The Involuntary Descent
by SalvaVeritate
Summary: Pride is a thick, woolen gag that covers their maliciously beautiful mouths.
1. Apathy

**A/N: Sorry I know y'all must be kind of sick of me by now but well, I was a bit bored so this came out. But yeah, again, they have the characters and I have the plot. Boohoo.**

**Just to note, this is probably my favorite up to date.**

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**The Involuntary Descent**

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I. Apathy woos the thinker with clear logic.

_It is the first time they have come together. Her nails slowly turn into blood red talons while her mouth opens and her eyes shut close, she is screaming in his ear. She claws at his back, anything to anchor herself from experiencing too much pleasure because she knows that once she does, she will be lost. He curses loudly, still buried in her. The sensation of his skin breaking causes him to stop his movements and glare at her. _

_There will no be casualties in their war. _

_He grits his teeth and takes her hardened nipple in his mouth, nearly biting it off. The act of revenge makes her stop her clawing and they look at each other, flushed yet far from sated. _

_They ask each other if it hurt. _

_They both shake their heads. _

_They continue._

_--- _

Pride is a thick, woolen gag that covers their maliciously beautiful mouths. It stifles them into the security they have built over their fictitious, mythical hearts but the words that have remained unspoken in turn feasts on their insides, it is a malignant cancer growing and growing deep inside. Gnawing, feasting, never becoming appeased by the amount of carnal pleasure or blissful vices the owners ingests in order to forget its existence.

Admittance is defeat.

Their bodies are the vessels in which they fight in; only they don't admit that they're fighting. They say that it's fucking. It's a vulgar term, commonly used for the masses. They are not part of that classification.

He is tall and handsome, always, always resembling a grown up little boy with charming features. He is deception in a man. When he stares into your eyes, he can make you feel as though the world existed for you. When he speaks, his words are a lullaby that will make you succumb, it will make you fall down on your knees and your rationalities will disappear. You want nothing more than to keep on reliving this rush only he gives, but as you open your eyes the next day, as your heart pounds with anticipation, you will find the sheets empty of his warmth. You will spend many nights crying over it, he will spare none of his precious seconds thinking of you.

He is dishonest.

You are sullied.

When he is inside of her, panting and gasping, she reaches behind his back and runs her fingertips through the skin of his shoulder blades. _Looking for something._

(She looks for the remnants of the charred, burnt wings but she doesn't tell him she is. She doesn't tell him that there are times when she almost feels something protruding from his back when there is none. Phantom wings. She feels it in her hands and when he breathes in her ear, when she feels their sweat mingling in the midst of this sacrilegious act they perform with such searing heat, she feels it burn hotter and hotter. The stumps of soft, hacked off feathers keep on burning under her touch. It glows orange red until she stops gripping it tightly.)

He has the body of an angel, with intense eyes that were the same hue as the ocean when it is undisturbed by the filth of man, hair so delightfully curly and colored a golden yellow. A mouth so full, red lips of temptation and entrapment. He can lure anybody with a few chosen words he is exceptionally gifted in searching for.

He opens his mouth when he lies and closes it when he is telling the truth.

She, on the other hand, his confidante and antithesis, was beautiful in her own right. The sinful Eden from the lost paradise and the epitome of the temptress that offered the apple to Adam. Blessed with the same obscene amount of wealth, power, and beauty as her counterpart, she was a young woman made of marble, silky auburn locks, and sad green eyes that had darkened as she'd aged. Darkened with what, exactly? While his eyes were a bright blue, hers were filled with the secrets she kept store of in order to use later as she saw fit. Many men have vied for her attention and some have succeeded, if only to be cast off later. The men she has been with are an assorted bunch, but they had one thing in common. They were men of fine upstanding, of blue blood and charming dispositions. They were kings and princes of their lands, yet some were as inwardly foul as the disgust she feels when she sees them and they look back with love struck looks in their eyes. Some, the ones who value themselves too much, see her as the perfect accessory. She doesn't mind. She sees them as such as well.

When she allows him inside her body, he is renewed. He is baptized again and again in the depths of her wet, warm cavern. Sometimes the warmth she generates burns through him and he wonders if he has found hell in her body. The fires smolder her organs and in her heart rests the throne of Satan.

She is fire and ice. Pain and bliss.

(He feels her small hands on his back, grasping the skin there. Fisting it in her hands while he grunts and pounds into her. The mortar and the pestle. Sometimes he slams into her frail body with all the strength he has because sometimes he thinks he could break her. He wants to break her if only to crack through the impervious covering she's spent her entire life perfecting. Mostly, he never succeeds, but there are instances, rare instances that were as frequent as fleeting stars crashing down from the dark, velvet blanket of the night, that he looks into those jaded eyes and he sees… Something. He doesn't really know how to explain it, given his sharp intellect, but he classifies it as… Something. It is a glimmer of emotion, of faintest, and the most obscure of emotions. He doesn't know which, but it's there. It is in the place between fire and ice.)

They entered into this forbidden liaison with their eyes fixed clearly on that invisible boundary they've set by mutual consent. He's desired her for so long and she him, but they were proud, too proud to let that desire and that heated passion mold into something that they will have no control over.

They've no desire for another term used by the masses. The only term they wish to use is the term fuck. They don't have sex or sleep together or make love. They avoid love. They are powerful because they are cautious; they know that it is something that will sooner or later drain them of their energy. They have seen great people fall because of it, and they certainly have no intentions to follow their downfall. They of course, have hearts, yes. That cannot be denied, for despite their contradictory actions, they are still human. But their hearts are nothing more than organs which pump life into their veins. Their hearts aren't made of love and emotion rather, it is composed of veins and far from beautiful passageways for their life flow.

I suppose this should mark the beginning.

The forging of the affiliation itself was not instantaneous. It was not merely by pure chance that she had stormed into his room in the middle of the night while he was with another. She did not wake up earlier that day with the intent to seduce him. He did not wake up realizing that while his girlfriend took him into her mouth, the object of his lust would disturb his moment of euphoria.

During their years together, it began to grow. What it is, you may ask. They are both creatures who appreciate beauty well enough to want to own it. His father had informed him that there were to be added occupants of the large house since he'd taken a wife. This young man, the junior to the empire of prominence that awaited him in the future, had grumbled to himself while he was on his way to his room.

Then he stopped.

It was not her beauty that caused him to. It was the way, through the partially open door, he saw her look at herself in the mirror. Having been used to vain girls, he knew the look in a woman's eyes when she admired herself. This one, however, was not looking in self admiration although she was by all means entitled to it.

It was an intent, openly curious gaze. It was trying to find the key to unlock the secrets she kept from herself.

The emotion he felt was not love, it was not 'love at first sight'. No matter how extraordinary this female appeared to be, it would take more than a single glance to undermine the rules he'd set for himself. Instead, it was more of… a curiosity that was identical to hers.

He did not want to know what made her so quiet. He wanted to know what made her scream.

As for her, it was simpler than that. His reputation had preceded him and she recognized the lust in his eyes when they looked at each other during their first dinner together as a 'family'.

He smiled at her with a smile that she knew had charmed its way into the beds of his many preys. Preys who regretted ever letting him between their sheets because they thought that maybe, just maybe, he would change and he would change for them. That maybe the myth was not a myth after all.

She was not one of the deluded fallen.

She did not want to know how she could change his bed hopping ways. She wanted to know how to control him.

Therefore, they began to experiment with each other. Baits were thrown, some taken, some ignored. They began to exchange words of deprecation, and soon she allowed him to touch her.

(She was always cold to touch.)

When it was too much, when his hand was near the keyhole that would unlock the pleasures of her, body and soul, she always pulls away.

(Never losing control.)

Upon realizing that they made a formidable pair, they embarked on ways to bring more amusements in their fast paced yet tedious lives. Divide and conquer.

(He enjoyed the challenge of seduction, her the act of manipulation)

I suppose that after having this for years, after giving each other smoldering, lust filled gazes, it was only a matter of time. Their interactions added the firewood to the already burning pyre of this soon to be consumed craving.

(Lava was being poured, glowing orange and an angry red, smoking, sizzling and hissing threateningly into a large container. It will soon overflow and burn everything in its path.)

That night was the night it exploded. It came as a sudden rush of heat between her creamy thighs, coupled by the immense anger that could only be brought forth by an exceptionally bad day. She needed release. He was in the next room.

(She reasoned that to hell with it.)

So, she storms in. The flames dances in her gaze while she looks at him, her stepbrother, only to find his mouth open with the abruptly stopped groan that was about to escape his mouth. His cock was being taken by the mouth of the virgin, having found a new altar to worship.

(The virgin's corn colored hair shines prettily under the dimmed lights while she sucks him. She is committing a blasphemy and he is the sinner that urged for her to do so. Nothing gives him more pleasure than that knowledge.)

As he stops, he looks at her blankly and the virgin hurriedly lets go of his manhood and wipes her wet mouth with the back of her hand, looking shamed and humiliated. The young woman doesn't say anything except _'leave'_.

The virgin notices the serrated blade glinting amidst the brunette's voice and quickly leaves with mumbled words of hasty goodbyes. She wants to make those green eyes catching her in the act of lewdness disappear.

The young man watches with interest at the blonde's departure before he raises his elbows until they rest on the pillows. His erection is still prominent, glistening with the virgin's saliva.

(Hallowed saliva. He wonders if he is suddenly pure but that thought immediately vanishes.)

She stares at it, standing proudly before her. She is thinking the same thing. The virgin she despises, the one who had stood for everything she hated yet practiced. Hypocrisy. Nevertheless, it was an act formed out of love. She wonders if her skin will burn off when she takes every inch of him into her body.

(She doesn't care. Maybe she wants it to burn off and peel the tiring layers that will take centuries to be taken off. It's too heavy but she has to keep it on.)

He asks her in an amused tone what the hell she's doing.

She answers by fixing him a look and he immediately understands it. He leaves the bed and grabs her.

He fucks her. She scratches him. Every part she wanted, she marked with her anger. Soon he is into her, in and out, a primeval hammering that gets her off. He talks dirty to her, he's never talked dirty before but somehow he felt that it was only proper. As her clothes lay torn and discarded on the cold floor, she suddenly realizes that the virgin's body fluids are inside of her now that he is.

(She wonders if she will feel as pure as she seems.)

As his mouth captures her breast, suckling and nibbling, she goes crazy. Feverish sweat overcomes her and the pleasure they both experience is a contract that is beginning to be written. His tongue, that delicious pink thing she had sucked on, starts flicking over the aureola and she holds back a whimper.

She doesn't want to whimper. She wants to moan and yell.

He is becoming too gentle now and she doesn't like it. She realizes that this is what he treats the virgin when they 'make love' and she doesn't want to be treated like that. They are not making love. They are fucking. Only fucking. She doesn't want to be loved. She wants to be fucked. She doesn't want to tell him this so she shows him.

(She shifts her position until he is the one under her.)

And she raises her hips, feeling his hands support her weight. She slams into him and his gasps fuel her. More. More. **More!**

His testicles are so tight and aching for the release it needed while it slams on to her over and over and over again. They are both heavily sweating now; there are no words of love and affection. They both talk dirty and call each other names, she was a bitch and he was a bastard. She was a slut and he was an asshole.

(These names serve as the lines they will not cross.)

As quickly as it happened, they are done. His now flaccid penis remains cozy inside of her until she pulls it out. There are marks of moisture along her body and his eyes travel to the mouth he'd tried to kiss but was turned down earlier.

They move.

She gathers her clothes without saying a word. He doesn't know what to say.

She breaks the silence.

"One rule."

They stare at each other and nod.

It has begun.

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**A/N: Well, obviously this is a step away from the usual turns I go with. It's a bit angsty and all that, I still haven't decided if I'll give it a good ending though. I'm sick of happy endings like with Awakening and Behind. But I dunno, you guys probably want that kind of ending… Hmm… Whatever strikes my fancy I suppose? Oh, and AIE will be under reconstruction but I don't suppose you care since you probably already read it (but if you haven't please don't until I say so because I've been meaning to fix a LOT.) Lol.**

** There seems to be a bit of confusion. This isn't a one shot although I can't be certain how many chapters this will have.  
**

**Right, I know this is the wrong place but I wanted to reply since I haven't replied before. **

**Katie: Yes, about that theory that I can get away with K/S anything… Perhaps I just might stretch that to the limit someday. But thank you, I'd like to think that I'm learning to adapt and shift so that I can always offer something distinctive. I know it's quite difficult since we all share the two main characters. Oh, do you know though, I've read a couple of D/Hr fics over at Harry Potter… I'd like to write one someday but I can't quite grasp it fully yet. (And I'll register under a different name so I can start fresh. Hmm... Look out for it! Lol) Saw your profile I know you're a fan as well. ;-) **

**Ocfan: Glad you liked the previous one, although I did have my reservations. I did think it was too… mushy? Ew. Lol, but hopefully this one won't be too obvious. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for reviews, that's all. **

**And to all the other people who read my stuff… Thank you thank you thank you. Please don't stop. But when I start to suck, just yeah. Stop. Haha **


	2. Persistent

II. Indifference cannot be easily forged if one finds that persistent emotion.

_It is their… _

_He's lost count. The hunger for each other's lust and passion has increased. When they are together, bare skins in contact—never having kissing mouths—, everything explodes and shatters. _

_Take me. Fuck me. _

_Never save me. Never love me. _

_I don't need it. I will never need it. _

_They thrash wildly on her bed and immediately the coldness of the blue room sifts through his pores. He looks at her as she breathes through her mouth, taking in large gasps. _

_He doesn't wonder what her mouth will taste like. Wondering will lead to wanting and wanting will lead to another type of consummation. _

_He focuses on her eyes and asks her what she's made of. _

_Fire or ice? _

_Fire. _

_Or. _

_Ice? _

_She doesn't reply. _

_--- _

Several weeks have passed since that night.

He was a man of a lot of thoughts, of infinite sharp logic and undoubtedly above average intelligence. That had never been challenged before, and if it had, it would probably be by the very striking brunette whose perfume still permeated his pillows. His illicit relationship purely of sexual relations with his stepsister had a contrary effect on his opinions and thoughts even though he knew he shouldn't think much of it.

His arms folded over his head while he lay there in deep contemplation, wondering how on earth he could claim to be in love with another woman—the virgin— and yet whatever purity the emotion promised him was tainted horribly as soon as he made some form of contact with her—the vixen—, he didn't know whether those smoldering looks and light, airy conversations in front of the public who adored, feared, and revered them served as foreplay.

She had spoken very little about the gradual turn in their affiliation, from lust to companionship to the consummation of both. One rule. It was iron clad and bound with many gossamer strands of dirty talks and invectives disguised as passion and affection.

His hand picked on the edge of the blankets that still covered his narrow waist, his eyes, mercurial and intense in nature, were submerged in his own introverted thoughts. The entire room seemed to have already been stained with her essence, for he could feel the coldness everywhere. As his strong hands tied the white sheets around his waist tightly, the wooden floor felt cold on his feet as he wandered over to the window just in time to watch the first few signs of snow fall.

How pure the world was outside. He was surrounded in the innocence he never had and yet somehow, through the lowering of his blond lashes (boy-man lashes, deceptive in its golden beauty), he knew it was the one thing he didn't want.

---

The vixen in this tale has just finished bathing, her warm and damp milk skinned body (as smooth as the velvet in his voice when he seduces) was covered in a piece of satin gown whose end went just above her knees. Her hair, though usually in a carefully arranged style of layers (as meticulously groomed as the layers she placed over her emotions), were now dripping slightly wet, the brown strands clinging together with the water as a cohesive. The droplets cascaded down her body, subjected to the law of gravity, but she didn't seem to care. The sound of her presence was nonexistent, and it was a rare occasion in which she was the one who would catch him off guard, for wasn't it always him who had oftentimes gone to her room whilst she lay asleep in order to catch her unaware?

Like a predator surveying her prey (or a devil examining an angel she was about to corrupt), she stopped and ceased her action to shut his bathroom door in order for him to remain uninterrupted. The vixen, the cruel, lust filled woman who oftentimes possessed the sin of avarice and of insatiable thirst for everything else, took a moment to stop and look at him.

His muscled back was free of any marks she assumed her nails had left in their earlier tryst, and he was obviously one of his more contemplative moods. She wondered how long it would take for him to move a limb, for the man she knew, the bedfellow and stepbrother, was restless in nature.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, leaning against the shelves filled with the books that would never serve his thirst for knowledge and intellect. She remembered the virgin then, the name, that unspeakable name, hidden in the purity of the snow he was fixated into staring at. Yes, that was what he wanted, wasn't it? She nodded slightly, her green eyes going to the framed photograph of him and the virgin (though, isn't it incorrect to call a girl that when she's been deflowered?) smiling together, his arm slung around her waist and that mouth of his unusually baring his teeth in a smile that she could only deduce to be genuine. Was that love then? Hah, if this was how he portrayed love, then she could never have faith in such a force. This was love for him? This clandestine affair hidden in his lies, in his eyes, in his words as he professed his affection for the yellow haired hypocrite who was in reality no better than them? Was it love then, when he would kiss the virgin and look into her trusting blue eyes, only to go into the blue and gold room of a young woman he should never be involved with in the middle of the night?

_Who are you?_ She asked him silently, because since the start of their coupling, fewer words were spoken. It was as if their bodies were subconsciously seeking heat from each other and only each other, and the words had ceased. It was the price to pay for such an intimate allowance into her body, because to be physically attached and emotionally attached respectively was one thing, but for both to happen at the same time… It was death. It was demise. For even if she knew that she was strong and an extraordinary being like that of Nietzsche's Superman, an individual that he himself once explained interest in (for she had never been one for philosophy and in the past, while they still spoke and was still not ensnared in this web of sex and power, he had thoughtfully commented out of the blue that he fashioned them as an Overman, which he explained were beings that were not subjected to the laws of morals and such), she had her own moments of weakness and she was logical enough to not overestimate the magnitude of the power of these said moments of weaknesses because it might eventually become her undoing.

The rule she spoke of during that one fateful night of combustion and heady atmosphere of hips thrusting and orifices touching skin still stood between them, separating them more now that they were physically intimate. She was about control, and she held on to it dearly. He had attempted to kiss her mouth once, and she exhibited that control over him by turning her head and declining. Somehow he understood the deeper meaning it held for them and never attempted it again.

Oh, but don't get her wrong. This new level of understanding between them was beneficial to her, because when he is inside of her, she feels like she is connected to another part of herself. However, she is realistic enough to know that it will never exceed to something else. Fucking. That's what they are doing, right?

She was not ready to face the society she'd spent years of her life pleasing with the news of her illegal liaison, a very dangerous liaison with a man doubly displeasing to her mother for his reputation and displeasing to the public because they were related by law.

Therefore, she had to also conclude that he was her own secret. Her dirty laundry, the dirtiest in the lot of the despicable things she'd done. She knew that for a young woman of fine upbringing with a secret penchant for illegal substances, a part of the thrill of allowing him to touch her and please her, was the knowledge that she was spitting at the face of her unfeeling mother, who would probably shrivel up and die the moment she found out. As for him, she knew that he was also in it for the thrill, for she was, despite his relationship with the virgin, the embodiment of desire and all things that should never be done.

It was a mutual understanding based on the enticing thrill of sex and desire that ultimately overpowers the claim of love and the staunch grip on a solidly pure reputation.

"How long are you planning to stay there and watch me?" he spoke suddenly and she blinked at the interlude.

"As long as I feel like it." She answered breezily and he turned to face her, a slight smile (a rare smile…) appearing on his handsome face.

"Have you finally succumbed to my charms, darling?" he added the last word with an extra drawl.

She looked into his eyes and realized this was dangerous. She also knew well enough that if one were to play with fire, it was adamantly imperative that she stay out of its flames as soon as she was through.

(Who was it that said even the coldest got burned?)

"No." she answered in a clipped tone, effectively stopping the start of what could have been a clever banter filled with sexual allusions. As much as she would have liked to indulge in this game of his, she realized with mild annoyance what the day would bring them. As her mother had insisted, they should spend the holidays as a family and to quench the curiosity she had concerning a certain virgin her errant stepson seemed to be committed to, she invited the entire family on a week in Aspen.

Hours later, she was currently situated beside her boyfriend (or one of the many hopefuls who had hoped to bed her) and her apathy to the cold atmosphere only served the niggling thought in a certain blond's head that she was indeed made of marble and ice on the outside, but emanated hell on the inside. He, (who shall hereafter be referred to as the clueless) had an arm wrapped around her while he proceeded to drown himself in alcohol with the other. They of course had gotten their own room and after a particularly long and tedious day of skiing, they had decided to retire for the night.

Something along the day nagged her, because she realized she had noticed how her stepbrother's hand always seemed to be planted either on the virgin's hand or her waist. She had never noticed such things before. Amidst the falling snow and the tightly wrapped in designer clothes beautiful people who laughed and gossiped, she never noticed the melancholic beauty of the fading sun when her boyfriend had pointed it out to her in an effort to prolong his status as her other half (since he sensed her apathy and knew with impending doom that he was about to be added to the long list of failed conquerors who vied for her affections yet never attained even a miniscule of it), she realized something was going terribly wrong.

In the silence, she sensed something was spinning and crashing. She realized with an almost horrified reaction what it was and while other people would have groaned out loud, she pushed all those disturbing images aside and kept it in a box inside her head.

She _was_ the vixen, the manipulative and strong willed brown haired green eyed beauty of wealth and influence, she could do anything and everything she wanted and control everything she damn pleased to control.

She reasoned that perhaps the numbness of the extreme cold had gotten to her reasoning, but that could be rectified easily. She also realized that the details she'd recognized earlier were not the only ones of note. For one thing, she surmised that the reason why she stared at her stepbrother was because he fascinated her with his gift to lead a double life. One moment he was the loving, devoted changed player while the next he would mercilessly pound into her and give her extreme pleasure. Watching him was like watching herself in a way, and _that_ was why she noticed those things.

The clueless handsome young man who was her chosen companion for the trip started peeling her clothing off, and she leaned back, surrendering to the warm, wet pad of his tongue as he worshipped her reverently. As his mouth grazed her skin, she tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to get a glimpse of her eyes while hoping he would see the forced emotion in it as passion. When their eyes locked, he smiled at her and she smiled back, running her small fingers through the fine locks of his dark hair while he told her how beautiful she was.

There it was: the familiar heat between her thighs, the surge of the thirst to be filled was being screamed by her womb and she pressed herself closer to him, letting him know what she wanted and that she wanted it now.

But no… Somehow this guy was different. He was gentle and he took his time, but once again, she didn't want to be fucked she wanted…

Wait.

That was wrong.

Her eyes shut tightly, in phantom pain and confusion.

Her control was being challenged.

Before she could fully comprehend whether or not it was merely the jumbling of words or whether it was the horrifying truth, she felt her mouth being covered by his and she eagerly devoured the chance for a distraction. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she allowed him access, her thumb rubbing the nape of his neck while he caressed her body with the same gentle hands.

And she was slipping into the gaping black hole of pleasure and bliss, the sensation alarming yet soothing at the same time. For as he withdrew his mouth from hers to give them both a chance to regain the oxygen lost in the contact of their lips, he kissed her forehead and entered her while she parted her legs.

Everything was fine then, until he kissed her again.

And somehow… Somehow her dirty secret, her eternally beautiful lie escaped its confinement and she whispered a name silently, so silent she was the only one who heard it.

"Sebastian."

She nearly stopped breathing and pushed him off her, suddenly everything burned and she needed to escape. As she grabbed her clothing, she ignored his protestations and instead warned him to not go after her. Her chest felt inexplicably heavy, what was this foreign… thing that clung onto her like an insistent parasite? She grabbed the keys and threw a thick wad of bills at the attendant, procuring a vehicle that allowed and promised her a lengthier distance compared to the use of her own booted feet. She drove and drove until she was alone with only the moon to serve as a companion. Yet, how is it possible that even the moon seemed to laugh at her predicament? There was a solitary bench that seemed to be meant for troubled young people such as her to mull over her confused thoughts, this was going against the very rule she'd set upon.

She stayed the entire night there, awake, her skin nearly numbed by the cold, yet comforted by the numbness it presented. As the first indications of the sun appeared on the already lightening sky, she heard another vehicle park behind her.

The vixen, this very annoyed and a bit vexed vixen, knew it was him even before she turned around. His feet crunched the snow as he sat beside her, his arched eyebrows almost disappearing in the black ski cap he wore. His scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold.

"What the fuck are you on?" he demanded, glaring at her. "Your boyfriend said you ran off last night like some insane lunatic, is this part of your twisted game to dump him? Because knowing you, I won't be surprised."

_ How dare he?_

She glared at him, feeling the fury she rightfully had the chance to feel. A part of her wished she could take perverse joy in secretly tormenting the virgin by making casual double meaning comments that made him frown at her disapprovingly, but somehow she knew the satisfaction wouldn't be as it was before.

Annoyed at her refusal to talk, he shook her slightly and her coat moved to reveal an alarming patch of skin on her neck with an interesting shade of blue.

"Christ." He swore, taking off his scarf and wrapping it around her neck.

He was being concerned and gentle again, and she couldn't stand it. She pushed him away and stood up, ignoring the pain in her unused legs. Mustering whatever indifference she had, she strode to the vehicle and got out her keys, ignoring him all the while.

"What's wrong with you?" he yelled, looking frustrated.

"Why did you come here?" she finally asked coldly.

He blinked in surprise at her question and then proceeded to look at her as though she was an idiot. "To murder you in cold blood because I found out you were alone." He answered sarcastically, "Why do you think?"

"I think you wanted to have a chance to fuck me while Blondie was still asleep because I'm sure she didn't give you enough last night, being the disgusting hypocrite that she is." She spun her words like venom, making his temper flare.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Kathryn!" he retorted bitingly, "As surprising as it may be, Annette satisfies me plenty."

Something inside of her twisted at his reply, "Well, great for you then! It's over! This stupid arrangement is fucking over. I'm sick of you already."

(Because I can't do it.)

His right fist clenched and that vein on the right side of his head was now visible and again she realized with that same sickening feeling, that it was one of the many things she knew about him. She didn't want to know, but she did. It indicated he was about to go off on her.

"Fine! It's not like I can't live without it!" he bellowed, reaching into his jacket to pull out a small wrapped box and throwing it on the thick snow that rested at their feet. "Merry Christmas, Kathryn." He spat out bitterly, driving off in a cloud of angry snow dust and leaving her there.

Her breathing turned into normal and she bent to take the gift that was his purpose for coming to find her in the first place. There was a small folded piece of paper taped on it and she looked around before she opened it cautiously.

_K, _

_ This is something you should have, given your incessantly snobby attitude and ineffable charm. _

_ With all my… (you know what). _

_ -S. _

She opened the box and took out a thin platinum necklace with a custom made pendant of a small crown that would have been corny had it not been encrusted with emeralds the same shade of her eyes.

Without saying another word to quiet the screaming in her head, she placed the present in her pocket and headed back to the hotel, where she spent the rest of the week in mysterious silence.

* * *

**A/N: Slipping back into K/S is like going home and sleeping my own comfy bed. Thank you for those of you who've read A Beautiful Night to Die, it's a crash and burn (Well, I wouldn't say I've already been burned but I suppose it's only a matter of time, eh?) attempt at expanding my horizons. It's not yet finished though. **

**Katie: Weeeell… Alright, I won't abandon that D/Hr, but as clearly evidenced by the apparent rough start you've mentioned (although thank you for also stating that I've somehow managed to rectify myself at the end) with 'ABNTD' (as you've shortened it), you're quite right. It's very difficult to adapt to different personas and write about them when I've written about 7 or so (I forget) fics that contained purely of K/S. So yes, I still maintain my apologies should I fuck it up and make D/Hr seem like bickering, smart mouthed, arrogant, and wealthy stepsiblings. I'm trying very hard not to since I'm out to prove something to myself as well, which is why unlike AIE, the updates regarding that will be very slow. I don't want to disappoint people who have read my CI stuff and are probably expecting something of the same caliber with the first HP fic. **

**B: Congrats on the new fic. **

**Sophia: Yes, I shall definitely continue. This is my favorite so far. I know I say that a lot, but sometimes I have the attention span of a newborn and the contentment rate of gold diggers.**

** Celeste: Thank you! ;-)  
**

**Pat nosferatu: Thanks, and I am TRYING to write a D/Hr in fact I already have the prologue up it's just difficult since I have to figure out how to go about it.  
**


	3. Break

** For urangel, who told me very politely and subtly that I actually have people who like my insane writings. I'm not humbling myself. Sometimes I just don't make sense and it comes out philosophically in what I write.  
**

**

* * *

**

III. Sometimes the layers get too heavy to wear and you break.

_Something has gone awry. _

_He's sensed it especially in her standoffish silence, for the brown haired eternally complex vixen he's grown up with was now as distant to him as the stars. _

_She never speaks until it is absolutely necessary, and it is usually filled with forced politeness that disturbs him. There were no more secret glances, no more trysts and teasing and no more of this insane affair. _

_Something is wrong with her. _

_She's too tired, too thin, too… something. _

_He fears that something is destroying her but she doesn't tell him anything of the sort and he never inquires. _

_Sometimes he wishes that he didn't want to because it's difficult to understand Kathryn. _

_ --- _

It must first be said that should a downward spiral of the secret life of a particular brown haired currently perturbed temptress occur, the very reason would _not_ be because of the surprising turn of events when her frost covered heart miraculously decided to thaw and take a genuine… liking (for she absolutely loathed that overused word called _love_) to the handsome blond haired angel demon who resided directly across the hall from her blue and gold sanctuary. Now, this statement is heavily emphasized since perhaps if she were to read this retelling of that particular part of her life and she realizes that it was not properly explained, her infamous temper would snap and all hell will break loose in one single moment.

Due to the fascination with her apparently platinum and gold plated life of wealth and perfection, there have been… stories regarding her. It can't be helped of course, for those who had the chance to get a glimpse of what she was really like behind the Catholic school girl outfit, she had always been portrayed as a villainous sort of beauty but the most important thing to know is that this depth of coldness is deceptive in nature. She wasn't simply born with a calm look upon her beautiful face while her thoughts drifted off to imagine the transpiration of her opponents' demise. For the pessimists, they view the vixen as a misunderstood, vulnerable girl who hides behind her tough façade in order to avoid from getting hurt. Perhaps they even think that beneath all those layers of fake smiles and polite pleasantries, therein lies the heart of a seventeen year old girl who only wants her mother's love and approval. However, should they attempt to explain or elaborate further on their inaccurate analysis of her; they will be met with further confusion.

(And maybe a glare or a smirk from her.)

These are the misconceptions she would like to address.

For one thing, she is not a misunderstood poor little princess who only wants to be loved. While she does have her moments of vulnerability (and these incidents are few and very clandestine), she really does not want to be loved. She only wants to punish for the fact that she does not want to be loved. As she had learned while growing up, love is merely a chain designed to limit a person to a life of lies and suffering. As a young girl, she had learned this very important lesson while she watched her mother, her perfectly graceful and disapproving mother whose face seemed to always be set on a frown, sink to the floor and grab her father's leg as he gathered his belongings.

At that point she realized that this was indeed something to be wary of, because the six year old version of her had always looked up to her mother and then to see her like… that… And because of what? Of _love?_ What has her mother gotten from it?

Money from the divorce settlement? Yes, of course. Vacation houses in various countries? Indeed. But at what cost? When will the very memory of herself kneeling down with a continuous dam of salty tears ruining her makeup leave her? Of course all the acquisitions from the separation had been generous, but had it necessarily worth the tears and the loss of her dignity? Imagine! (the vixen thought in utter disgust, still remembering.) Kneeling down in front of a man to beg him to love her, to actually be as desperate as to hold on to his limb in order to prevent him from leaving!

She certainly had no need nor does she have any plans to reenact the scene of her mother begging her father to stay.

Although she did ask her father countless times to reconsider, it was definitely not the same thing. A daughter imploring a father whose love for her should be without end was very much different from a wife kneeling down in front of a man whose love for her had long since passed.

She loved her father once, but he had failed her. All men have and will continue to do so.

It was, she believed, one of the most important epiphanies she'd ever had. Love, you see, is nothing more but an illusion that is exploited by the media in order to fool people into supporting a movie or a product. It doesn't exist. Everybody else just wanted to think that so life wouldn't be meaningless speck of dust in the entire universe.

While her stepbrother's philosophy included analyzing the theories and thoughts of great philosophers, hers was more of the practical sort.

But that must be left for now.

It has been approximately four months since the Christmas incident and the precise part of this story will be concentrated on her attempt to understand this strange and annoying feeling that somehow he has won something over her and he didn't even know that he had.

Now, to understand not really exactly, but the closest estimate to the workings of her complex mind it should also be said that she is in reality the type of person who deals with her problems in silence and solitude.

As mentioned earlier, should there be a downward spiral in her perfect life, it could not only be attributed to the blond bastard she wanted to loathe but surprisingly couldn't. Perhaps it was because in her haste to seduce and be gratified she forgot to protect the very thing, the _single_ and most _important_ thing that she couldn't, shouldn't and under any circumstances will _never_ give him.

Her… No. She still couldn't say it because saying it would mean that it existed in a literary sense, for wasn't it mentioned earlier that if she was to have a… It would only be for pumping blood into her system and nothing more?

She dealt with it the only way she knew how: By blatantly trying to eradicate him from her life, or at least, ignore him the best she could. Oh, sure, there were sometimes flippant remarks that escaped her mouth even before she could think but it was second nature for her to say something deprecating about the Virgin, most especially when she knew he would take offense in it.

And she _hated_ that he did.

It was as if this… thing had triggered a series of very unfortunate events in her life and while it was not the only cause (it must be heavily stressed that this was so, for she did not like to appear so dependent on him) he was indirectly the instigator of the fine mess that had suddenly become of her.

The vixen's life you see, like many of the inherently damaged beautiful heiresses and heirs of her time, is in reality a house of cards. It takes a careful and steady hand to place one on top of the other, it requires perfect symmetry and correct timing in order for it to grow taller and taller until people come and take notice of its magnificence. Well, she has been doing just that, card after card has been placed in a decorative manner that would have charmed anybody who even caught a single glimpse of it.

Each layer represents a life altering moment in her life.

Layer one represents the time she remembers when her father came home from work to scoop her up in his arms and told her she was his beautiful princess while her mother busied herself with her fundraisers and charity events.

Layer two is when her father started to go home late at night and she would stare up the high ceiling of her dark room (where she could see her little toes in outlined in contrast to the shadows the outside world filled her bedroom with) to wait for him to come and tuck her in but he never came.

Layer three happened when the fights began and her nanny would carry her upstairs to muffle the sounds of yelling.

Layer four was when she realized her father was gone.

Layer five was when she meant that 'I love you' means 'I'm going to make you dependent on me and then completely fuck you up and leave you hanging.'

Layer six was when she grew up and stopped writing letters to her father which she sent but never got any reply from (usually cards filled with _'I miss you, Daddy'_ or_ 'Come back' _or _'I want to live with you and I promise to behave if you come get me.'_)

Layer seven was when she lost any sense of idealism began to grow cold and indifferent, preferring to snort coke, have sex, manipulate, ruin other people's lives, and drink alcohol than to ponder about her meaningless yet luxurious life.

Layer eight was when her mother remarried and she moved into her cherished blue bedroom right across the hall from her stepbrother whom she decided was an interesting character…

Layer nine was when she decided that she had to have him _now_.

Layer ten was when she whispered his name and realized she wanted him still despite the ground rules she'd set.

Layer eleven came exactly three days after Christmas, when she heard her mother laughing at how her—the vixen's— father, who was once so great and well respected, was now unable to go to the bathroom by himself and had been confined to an geriatrics' home by his equally gold digging wife thirty years his junior.

She spent a long time deciding whether or not to go and she spent a long time thinking of what to say to him. She wanted to hurt her father.

Most peculiar was the fact that she also spent her time _remembering._

Then, just then, as she had first set a high heeled foot into the center, the stench of strong medicine and general decay let its presence known and she had almost reeled back and returned to the limousine. Her present problems of the Christmas incident and the ludicrousness of her hypocritical life were all overshadowed by the overlapping of the layers in her masterpiece that was the house of cards.

All her hatred, her annoyance for this man she had once loved and cherished more than anything so long ago when she was still easily molded, disappeared when his neck tilted up in his wheelchair and began to look at her imploringly.

Something thick clotted her throat and she couldn't find herself to be her usual merciless version.

Due to this ailment, his face had twisted grotesquely and a small dribble of saliva ran down his chin and the dark haired beauty had to blink several times to check if it was really _him_, her expected savior from her controlling mother.

(These are the things no one knows about her that once, a very, very long time ago, she wanted and needed to be _saved._)

The nurse was talking to her in a kind tone, something about the cacophony of her murmurs made her take a step closer to her father. He was only a ghost of his former self.

(You never came back.)

He was struggling to speak, but his mumbles were full of sounds that never made much sense.

(Where were you when I wanted to leave mother?)

(Where were you when I BECAME THIS BITCH? **WHERE WHERE WHERE?**)

And she remembered reading her stepbrother's journal once but after a single page she had stopped.

(Alcoholic.)

(Bulimic)

(Coke problem.)

(My _love._)

Yet she remained silent, trying to grasp on to the remaining fringes of her composure.

He laid a shaking hand on hers and she nearly jumped up from the warmth of the contact.

"Bee…" he rasped, his face contorting with difficulty. "Beaatiful P-prince..ssss."

The nurse looked at her in amazement and but she couldn't hear anything due to the blood rushing to her face.

"He's never spoken since he was placed here… Are you his daughter?"

"Purrrr… Purincess… Duh-daddy's hhh-erre."

Oh, how she almost came undone there, but not quite.

She took her hand from his and ran a shaky hand through her hair, staring straight into his woeful aged eyes.

(Where were you?)

"Sss…ry… Ssooorr…y…"

"Fuck you." She whispered, backing away from him and the surprised nurse. "Why don't you just die?"

With that, she walked briskly and never looked back. Her chest was heaving heavily and she sounded like she was hyperventilating at the back of the limo, the top half of her crucifix shaking as she attempted to soothe herself.

She was suddenly a six year old trapped in a seventeen year old body.

The powder fell all over the leather seat and she cursed loudly.

(Why the fuck did I have to do that? STUPID STUPID STUPID MORONIC MOVE.)

(He's pathetic so fucking sad and pathetic he deserved it. He deserved every fucking thing. Apologies are for imbeciles.)

Her molars were grinding and she could almost feel her mouth fill with the dust from her enamel. The bright, otherwise perfect afternoon escaped her and all she wanted to do was scream herself hoarse. Her nails had begun to dig into the leather interior during her silent fury and once she had arrived at the townhouse, who else would she run into but _him_?

"Move!" she snapped, very much ready to hit him because she needed to be alone and safe in the confines of solitude.

But he did not.

She was halfway to her room when he shouted her name and caught up to her easily, gripping her shoulders while she gritted her teeth harder to stop that betrayal that was about to fall from her eyes.

"What happened?" he asked urgently, looking at her with unabated concern and she despised it.

(Despised it with every layer in her house of cards)

She shoved him away from her.

(No, oh fuck please don't do this to me. Not in front of him! GOD DAMMIT NOT IN FRONT OF THIS FUCKING BASTARD.)

She wiped something from her eyes. It may have been a speck of dust caught but his surprise was unparalleled. He knew what it was and could scarcely believe it. His mouth was suddenly opened and he looked momentarily astonished before her anger wiped it off for him.

"FUCK OFF!" she growled, trying to push past him.

He grabbed her again and held on tighter and her face was somehow pressed against his cheek.

She struggled, hitting him with her hands until his skin stung.

"Kathryn, please." He whispered and she didn't know if it was coincidental or not, nevertheless, she saw her father in her closed eyes and then she saw _him_ and the virgin and worst of all, she saw herself as she had in Aspen. Full of jealousy and fury and it had been because of _him_. She saw through her fake friends and two faced personality and instead of seeing vulnerability, she saw a big gaping hole of absolutely _nothing._ It frightened her. It emboldened her. It made her sick.

She started to cry right there in the hallway, slowly ceasing from hitting him until she felt her knees give in slightly.

Her weeping was not the loud kind, for even in her slightly altered state of mind she still knew that it was improper for her to sob so loudly. Her hiccups were muffled by her stepbrother's shoulder and she honestly didn't give a fuck whether or not there was already a large wet stain on the expensive clothing. Damn him. Damn him to all the levels of hell.

"Fuck you." She whispered again and again, "I hate you. I fucking hate you."

Slowly, her arms reached up and under his arms, hooking onto his back and grasping his shirt with her fists.

(His smell, his smell, she loved his scent.)

"Damn you."

He was murmuring words of comfort yet he didn't even know why he was comforting her nor did he have any idea that he was partly the reason why she was such a frightful mess.

(Skin so warm, covering the hardened muscles that made up his body.)

Her sobbing eventually quieted down to a mere few hiccups and in her state of madness, she pressed her face against his and closed her eyes, holding on to him, rubbing her cheek against his.

(Maybe, maybe, maybe… What if…)

(You were mine instead?)

"Mr. Valmont, Ms. Hargrove is here to…" the butler's voice trailed off and cleared his throat discreetly but it was enough to set the vixen straight.

(You were mine **before**.)

She literally felt as though a bucket of ice had been thrown over her and if she had been disgusted with herself hours ago, the degree was incomparable to the one she was feeling right now.

(What the fuck?)

She let go and stepped away from him just as she had done her father earlier. The time for saving her has come and passed.

He looked at her in silence.

"You should go to your blonde bitch." She sneered, hoping that her eyes weren't as red as she thought they were.

"I can stay and talk with you about what hap—"

(Fuckfuckfuckfuck **NO**.)

She spied his journal a few feet away from them, resting on the floor from when it had fallen during his sprint after her.

(Her own photograph staring up at her in haunting silent malice and that tiniest shred of sadness.)

(Bulimic)

(Alcoholic)

(Coke problem)

(My _love._)

"No." she interrupted coldly, "Why would you do that? I'm just a bulimic bitch who has a coke problem right? Isn't that what it said in your fucking journal?"

He looked like he was about to be shot.

"You… You read it." He answered quietly, "Listen,"

"Why? It's all true."

(Oh, how mockingly she laughed!)

"You said it yourself. You'll forgive me if I didn't have the appetite to read on about every crook and cranny of my personality, now how did it go again? 'That two faced evil whore who enjoys ruining lives for her own sick and twisted amusement.'? Thank you, dear brother. You've described me perfectly."

He reached out for her, wrinkles appearing on his forehead.

(Such a handsome face that will never grow old with its boyish features)

"You have to let me explain—"

"Why? Let me just clarify one particular detail you seem to have missed, you judgmental asshole. You pride yourself on your philosophical inquiries, on the fact that unlike people of our kind, you're not narrow-minded and shallow. Well, take a fucking page out of your own edifications, Valmont. There is so much more to my fucking life than that fucking journal, so much more than my fucking charity events, my fucking boyfriends, my fucking 'friends', and my FUCKING SECRETS! YOU DON'T KNOW THEM ALL! DON'T JUDGE ME BY THE LIMITED AMOUNT OF INFORMATION IN YOUR PATHETIC, QUEER NOTEBOOK!"

"Sebastian?"

(How she wanted to rip out the blonde's vocal cords to stop her from speaking.)

(You want her so badly? Be with her, you fucking bastard. I hope you both die. I don't need you.)

(You loveherloveherloveher. TRAITOR.)

As for him, if he had been in a state of surprise and astonishment a few minutes ago, he was now in a deeper state of shock for he had never seen her like this before.

"Kathryn…"

"Don't. Touch. Me." She said quietly, "You don't ever get to touch me again."

She glanced at him, taking advantage of his silence.

"I'm not letting you in anymore."

She pushed past him and slammed the door in his face.

The rift between them grew after that bizarre encounter in which she had allowed him to possess her in her less than poised moment. As for the angel-demon blue eyed perplexed young man, this very heated argument (though is it incorrect for him to say it as such since he was literally stunned into an almost stuttering silence?) greatly increased his questions about her.

All these questions were remained unanswered since she might as well have started to live an exact world away from him despite the proximity of their rooms. He didn't know how things would go back to as they were.

As for her, it was these layers she had put on that started to make its weight feel known on her entire body and started… falling. (It is not about him, never only about him and he is a part of a large puzzle that had fucked itself up and she is suddenly too tired to piece it back together. The lies are all catching up to her.) Spiraling down and down. Of course, it wasn't as apparent as it could have been had it not been her, but it was there… She was breaking ever so slowly in her forced smiles and in her beautiful dark jade and now jaded eyes.

Her redemption came in an ironic name: Damien. Satan in a man, a loving Satan whom she'd met at a party. He took her in his arms and caressed her back when she inhaled the powder he'd given her to make her forget. His black hair felt silky in her fingers when he had her against the wall, his powerful body pressing against her while his mouth moaned sinful blasphemies that made her entire body _burn_.

This went on for a month.

She didn't remember much for that final night of her stay in New York. Damien had just left and she felt the fine white grains of their powdered sin in her hand, rubbing her thumb and finger together.

(Velvet silk of indulgence she absolutely _loved and craved and cherished._)

Her wide eyes closed for a second or two, hesitating for only the smallest of milliseconds before she leaned in and covered her left nostril with her forefinger.

(Too much… Too much… Where is her Damien? Where is her handsome temptation?)

No. No, she doesn't need him. She is always, always in control. There will be no 'too much' for her.

So with an appeasing smile on her beautiful mouth, she gave one sharp intake through her open nostril and the grains went into her system.

(A wonderful way to go to sleep.)

(Don't need anybody.)

Darkness.

She was such a beautiful princess enshrouded in dark shadows, white powder, and deep slumber.

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Hullo. It's my down time and writing exercise#13620. Hmm… I was supposed to take a nap but because of a certain pm I received from urangel, I smiled and set down to try to piece this update together. For those of you who were expecting something from HP or any of the other unfinished stuff, I'm sorry. I did however begin writing the update to BGA, have a clear plot for Things Unsaid, and spent my time in one of my classes earlier daydreaming about what to do with ABNTD, as well as Eight Years of Nothing which you MUST READ if you haven't because I like it better than ABNTD. I think ABNTD is a rough start which is weird. Haha. I'm so self deprecating sometimes. Alright, thank you for those who have reviewed despite my down time. (I believe I'm a bit rusty these days.). No fixed amount of chapters here yet, but it's not a very long story. I hate long stories. I've decided that just now. Lol. And, as for the pm, aww I feel special now but I'm sorry since An Awakening in Five Acts is already finished. ;-) You can just read my other stuff maybe it'll be adequate? Oh well, see you when I see you. Don't know when.**

** Just a comment: Katie, I read your review response to mind in one of the fics here. Alright, so maybe it's not just a bit but I wanted to downplay my former obsession a wee tiny tiny bit. Guess it didn't work. Haha**


	4. Crave

IV. Even the strongest of people crave for an escape.

_She is beautiful and tragic and sad. _

_(Like an opera) _

_(Like a legend soon to be obscured in time) _

_Years from now the young man will no longer be called 'young' _

_And he will **wish**__ he had done more. _

_He will wish he could have seen her. _

_One. _

_Last. _

_Time. _

_--- _

These are the last three hours of her life in New York:

**12:04 am. **

Damien's hands are on her hips and she is on top of him, moaning softly while his mouth turns her body into an altar. She loves running her hands through his black hair because it is so _straight_ and it keeps her from closing her eyes and thinking of hair spun in dark gold that curls around her little finger when she pulls the golden head closer to her.

He is telling her that she is so beautiful and she feels in too deep to all these warning shocks of sex and electricity that seemed to emanate from her beautifully sculpted demon. There are sparks of lust running through her bloodstream and she could barely keep her pleasured sounds to herself.

Such nice lips he had, _thin_ and pink and at that moment parted with in a gasp of his own.

(She kept on thinking that he was so beautiful and that his beauty was not deceptive, that he was not made to look like an angel and that everything about him was what she understood because she needed his words and his body and his drugs…)

"Fucking beautiful…" he grunted, black eyes glittering.

She knows that she is exactly that she has striking features and that she is indeed beautiful but the moment that word comes out of his mouth for the third time, she hears her father calling her beautiful again and she only responds to her lover's awed groaning by digging her nails deeper into his skin.

"Bitch." He swore and she merely grinned mischievously, disarming him with a few well placed kisses. He quickly relented and she swallowed all the expletives that would have come out of his delicious mouth.

The vixen drank in his cruelty and took pleasure in his roughness and this is exactly what she needed.

**1:10 am. **

The one thing she liked about her demon man aside from the fact that his darkness nearly filled up the void that had inexplicably widened inside of her was that weariness was never able to catch him. She was a young woman, who vied and absolutely relished her control, and with him, with this man sharing her bed, it was never challenged nor did he ever seem to want to take it away from her. Oh, but the passion that had overcome both of them in their coupling always left her near delirium, his undeniable charm and that almost threatening glare in his eyes when they came across unworthy men who wanted her attention made her feel as though she had found exactly what she was looking for.

Did she _love_ him? No, you misunderstand her. This wasn't about it at all. He _was_ her in some ways, and in her time of confusion over the disintegrating layers and her problems concerning her stepbrother, it seemed like a part of herself had been cut out and fashioned directly to complement her. Does that make sense?

He was not a replacement for _him_, because as much as she would loathe admitting it, the deceitful blue eyed ethereal being in human form was irreplaceable. The fact of the matter was, she was not doing it to replace _him_, but rather to realize the fact that no one should ever even have the right to occupy that place in her… mind.

As she shifted her leg against his, he turned to look at her.

"Who're you running from, baby?" he whispered in his rough voice somehow laced with his own kind of concern, something he rarely showed to anybody else.

"I don't run away from anybody." She responded, staring at him.

He touched her wrist, turning her arm over while he smiled.

"You don't have to deceive me."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said quietly, casting a sideways glance at her while he prepared the cocaine. "That we all run from something. Even you, pretty girl. Especially you."

She remained silent for a few brief moments and became so still he thought she'd left him, her neck tilted slightly to the side while those eyes of hers, those eyes he'd grown to be quite fond (never love, because he is her and she is him and they avoid that cancerous word if they can) cast a far off gaze across the room while her velvety smooth fingers grasped for her rosary. Sometimes he thinks that (_maybe_ just _maybe)_ she is talking to someone to exorcise the demons from her mind but somehow he _knows_ during their moments of raw passion wherein every wall she'd placed crumbles _just a little_ that these demons still remain. Yet despite his fondness for the vixen, he knows that it is not his place to be her savior. At least, not that way. How can he do such a thing when all he does is incite malice and deadly powder into her system?

Maybe he is her savior in that sense. Maybe she is struggling to retain the shadows that shield her in her solitude and accompany her on her superior pedestal and he is the only man who could do that.

In the span of this monotonous, contemplative hour where our naked yet very tired temptress nestled against the safety of her bed, we shall then shift to her dark haired companion who perhaps caught the contemplative bug because as he leaned closer to the neat little white lines he inhaled sharply and he saw this:

The party where he first laid eyes on the stunning brunette striding past the double doors with her small chin tilted up slightly, her petite frame not at all implying that she is someone to be ignored but rather, quite the opposite. Her dark green eyes had swept across the room and he had been leaning against the marble fireplace with a cigarette in his mouth.

Their eyes met. He didn't smile and only blew smoke in her general direction as a silent challenge.

Unlike the other young women who had quickly averted their gaze, she did nothing of the sort. In fact, she merely raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Who the hell are you?"

It was at that moment he knew that she was different.

His head had rolled back as his world turned hazy and bright, with a single reminiscent smile on his face he felt her hand on his chest.

Suddenly her face is inches in front of his and all he can remember is thinking that somehow at that party that was his first time of seeing her, he saw through the standoffish expression and the ice princess and saw that she was, in some aspects, the saddest little girl masquerading as a grown up he'd ever seen.

Of course, this little girl notion was quickly added with the saddest little girl capable of destroying your life when she glared at him as if sensing his thoughts.

It wasn't that he had this urge to _protect_ her because she certainly seemed like (despite her troubled expression) someone who was capable of taking care of herself.

"Silly rabbit," she whispered; the warmth of her breath hit his mouth while he grabbed her shoulders and tried to focus on her eyes because his entire body suddenly felt like it was so _alive_ and _complete_ and he could go for days without any sleep or rest.

"Pretty girl." He answered, biting her lip while she slowly settled on top of him.

"You're not sharing." She pouted, motioning at the powder while he grinned devilishly.

He narrowed his dark eyes at her and combed her long brown hair before pulling her in for a kiss.

"Tell me your secrets." He murmured against her mouth, immediately feeling her entire body tense. "Tell me who you're running from."

He felt her palms (so soft and warm and _small_ like a young girl except her nails were manicured and long enough to claw at his skin when the lust overtook her body) rest on his pectorals as she pushed herself up and their eyes met in a long, prying stare.

"I don't need you to mindfuck me." She said harshly as her nails started to dig into his skin.

"Don't mistake mindfucking for curiosity."

He tightened his grip against her wrists until the pressure forced her to let go and she did, wincing (yet still with that ever present glare) at her the red marks on her skin.

"That hurt." She snapped, shoving him.

"I know." He smiled _that_ smile (devilish grin so, so, so different from her stepbrother's).

"But you like it." he murmured, his large hands cupping her small face. "You like the pain."

Her skin felt nearly scalding on his sensitized hands as she allowed herself to be taken and just when their faces were once again _so close_, she spoke.

"I don't like receiving it." She said quietly, licking his upper lip while her body rubbed sensuously against his. "But I do however, like giving it."

Suddenly her teeth clamped on his lip and it _stung_ so badly he nearly yelped had it not been for the replacement of her teeth with her own mouth, laving at the pain. The white hot pleasure of her tongue on his new wound reignited the fire that had dimmed down inside of him and he ran his hand up and down her smooth back, particularly enjoying the curve of her spine because it felt like pale perfection.

He flipped her over and she purred, feeling the grains of the cocaine spread all over her back as she found herself being kissed hungrily by _her_ (and this time she knew that this man was _hers_ just _hers_) lusty demon (the only demon in her mind she'd like to _keep_ because he _complements _her and keeps her _sane_).

(And the small bits and pieces of powder feel like sand on her skin… For a moment she remembers the beach in France and she almost feels the sun's rays on her body because the warmth is nearly the same as the one being produced through his mouth on her neck.)

Then he was inside of her and his low growl made her moan so loudly the entire room filled with her voice… So loud they didn't hear the door open.

"Kathryn, can I talk to—"

Then he saw her eyes open wide as she peeked over his shoulder, looking affronted and shocked and angered and…something else at the intrusion. They were caught in a compromising position, her legs were spread and our devilish enigma was in between her, panting, groaning, and at that moment, hit with something that surprised even him.

(He'd never seen her like that before.)

Her bedmate could have _sworn_ her entire body suddenly dropped a few degrees in temperature and her hands automatically gripped his skin like he was her rosary and her companion her friend, her necessity to…

_(Make him leave make him disappear I don't want to see him!) _

"Do you fucking mind?" he snarled at the gaping young blond and the pair of clear blue eyes their disturber possessed landed momentarily at him before settling onto the brunette's widened dark jade irises.

She remained silent and he felt strange sense of kinship over her because he believed he just had his answer to the question she'd avoided earlier.

He turned his attention back at her and realized she was still looking at her stepbrother (the overgrown little angel demon) like a person would look like at something that she wanted to avoid.

"Here." He looked at her and turned her cheek slightly.

She wordlessly complied (once again surprisingly without her claws or her venom because it seemed like she had been silenced by her inner troubles).

Dark and green juxtaposed in a long look as he stayed completely still, never moving until they heard the door shut.

She had this strange imploring look appear like dark clouds settling over a once bright sky on those eyes (so full of dark and endless secrets).

"Fuck me." She said quietly, pushing her hips against his. "Please."

(He's shocked because she _never_ begged.)

And at that, he complied.

**2:05 am. **

_Here is where we pick up the pieces. _

(Too much… Too much… Where is her Damien? Where is her handsome temptation?)

As she slept alone, the feeling of peace and serenity that sung a lullaby to her thoughts and screaming thoughts slowly disappeared into the darkness.

Her eyes remained closed.

Her heart started going too _fast_.

Voices filled her head.

_"You like the pain."_

___"I like giving it." _

Her leg shifted under the blankets that covered her nude body.

(Smooth; so smooth. Tragic and poetry and sadness.)

_"Tell me your secrets." _

_ "Annette satisfies me plenty."_

Her throat suddenly felt dry.

(Dry as the sand in her deteriorating system.)

Water. I need water.

(Ah, my vicious, beautiful vixen…)

Her eyes opened like she had been slapped in her sleep and felt something slide down her cheek.

Red. Something liquid and red and metallic smelling.

(Are you so weak now? When is too much for you? Is this it? Will this how you end?)

Her tongue felt like cotton stuffed in her mouth and her heart tightened and kept on squeezing itself like it's about to blow up into millions of red beating pieces. A part of her, the twisted and perverse part, wanted it to happen.

She weakly fumbled for the phone.

(But I thought you didn't need anybody?)

He answered.

"Come back."

The phone was left in her hands as she closed her eyes.

---

Minutes later (such precious, precious time composed of fast moving seconds that stacked up against our favorite complex villain) the door opened and a young man stumbled in.

(She is a vision of perfect placidity, a thin trail of blood running down her cheeks like misplaced crimson tears.)

"Fuck!"

The vixen's head was cradled in his arms while he swallowed the spreading panic in his veins. As he carried her light body out the door, the moonlight from the large window made her glow unnaturally (like she'd shed all the blood through her nostrils).

As he settled her inside his convertible and managed to turn on the ignition, he cupped her cheek with his right hand and used the other hand to feel her pulse.

(Weak, once so strong. Not her, never her. This is unnatural and wrong.)

"Pretty girl, my beautiful temptress." He said quietly as he stepped on the gas. "What have you done?"

**3:00 am.**

This is the night that would remain in the minds of those who knew her.

How will that night be described then for her stepbrother then?

It was a night spent in the blissful ignorance of what was termed to be lovemaking, while his blonde girlfriend (radiating of purity and kindness and wit and a silent strength so parallel to his stepsister) snuggled in his arms, his cell phone lay forgotten on the floor (tossed in the middle of their tussle). The external screen blinked on and off while someone named Blaine Tuttle kept on calling him.

In his mind, his resting, brilliant mind, there is silence and then there is the silence of the mystery he couldn't solve. The former made him rest, the latter stirred his thoughts to life. Somehow embedded in there is his stepsister, now as foreign to him as a dead language.

He remembered the files the private detective had given him after following his stepsister around. In fact, he could still see it so clearly in his mind. A photograph of her and an old, weakening man.

A name. A daunting name to place on such a pathetic creature.

Mr. Merteuil.

(And is this your secret, Kathryn?)

He saw her face in the photograph and almost didn't recognize her as the same woman he'd slept with (the same woman who had made him feel so much_ pleasure and pain_ there should be new terms for it) because the young woman in the photograph looked so fragile and angry and lost and everything he couldn't explain but knew.

Dear reader, it is my sincerest wish to tell you that somehow our handsome (although dense) hero in this tale sensed her alarming condition and quickly rushed to her side but it would be untrue.

He did what any other person would have done in ignorance of the bigger picture.

(He sometimes grows tired of trying to figure out the puzzle with missing pieces)

He opened his blue eyes and glanced at his girlfriend before sleeping.

(Sleep and close your eyes because when you open them a part of your life will be gone)

As he slumbered, the silver phone (on silent) blinked mutely and uselessly.

(Answer me! Answer me now!)

(She's slipping! God dammit Sebastian **answer the fucking phone!**)

The sense of urgency remained unnoticed by the deceptive peaceful surroundings her room gave them both.

(Rest… _Rest…_)

Hours from now he will open his eyes to the first rays of the sun and he will carefully disentangle himself from the virgin's soft body. Then he will take his time (because he will think that he has all the time in the world and that nothing will be lost if he just took things slow) and take a shower, taking more and more of those valuable hours that are now unimportant because by the time he opened his eyes to a new morning she has already left him and everything behind.

By the time he checks his phone there will be thirty missed calls and the same number of voicemails from Blaine Tuttle filled with:

_("Kathryn OD'd get here now. Fuck Sebastian where the hell are you? She could fucking die! Wherewherewherewherewhere… And then there's…Just go to the fucking hospital!")_

(_"Fuck."_)

(In a dead, flat voice.)

(_"She just left and I don't know where she went."_)

Then he will run to his car and go straight to their house only to find it without her. He will call Tuttle while driving and Tuttle would not know anything about her whereabouts just that she left.

Then he will go as far as to call the vixen's mother but she will be of no help because it had just always been the two of them and now there's only one and he didn't know why.

The stepbrother will be stunned and he will try calling her cell phone but it wouldn't be possible because it will be turned off.

And night will fall but still she will be unheard of. Her companion will be questioned but he will be as clueless as everybody else just that their favorite evil beauty ran away.

(Run away, run away…)

Then her mother will fabricate lies for damage control and so when people say:

(Such a shame… She was supposed to give the graduation speech a week from now…)

(I heard she was on drugs…)

(I heard she got pregnant…)

The older version of the ice princess would say:

(She's decided to continue her education elsewhere.)

(Nothing more.)

And hours will turn into days and weeks and months and years and years. The brunette will become a source of gossip and hearsay while the stepbrother will eventually try to stop looking for her.

_(Try.)_

Sometimes he will talk to her in his mind:

_(Where are you? What did you do? What happened to you? What happened to us?)_

But there will only be silence where her slightly sharp edged voice would have replied. So, years and years and years from now our little angel-boy-demon will grow up and the stepsister will become a mystery tucked in the very depths of his mind and his heart and his soul to be pondered only on times of circumstance because sometimes it will hurt to think about her and how they ended.

There are times when he would almost automatically look for her at parties, because he will know that she always liked making a grand entrance but he would end up in vain because the only presence she would make there is in the name of old gossip.

He will be disheartened and furious and he will pour everything into feeling for the virgin and he will propose to her one day while they are seated out on his balcony because he will be so sure that he_ loves _her because it's always been her that stuck with him all those years.

On the day of their wedding (years and years from now when they are older and when the years chisel away at their_ youth_ and _change_ them all) he will watch his beautiful bride walk down the aisle, her blue eyes sparkling with happiness and he will wonder if his stepsister will show up because he knows that she doesn't approve of the virgin and maybe this is her way of making her Grand Entrance.

But he will be met with nothing.

Only the knowledge that she is _really gone._

_

* * *

_**A/N: Midterms are over. I aced most of it. As a reward to myself I scrounged this up. I hope you like it I might be a bit rusty because I haven't written for SO LONG. I know technically it's only more than a week but it feels like more to me.  
**

**HarlequinnGirls: Thank you, I hope this update makes you stop keeling over. ;-P**

**noelle: Wow, really? That means a lot since I'm doing this as an experiment. Hehe**

**urangel: You deserved the thanks. You got me back here. ;)**

**Katie: Where's the fic you're working on? Want to read it now! NOW! Hahaha. Only kidding.**

**Anyway, for the millionth time thank you all for reading my insanity. **


	5. Time

V. Time either kills of intensifies.

_Have you heard what happened to her? _

_I heard she… _

_Died. _

_Ran away. _

_Got married. _

_Got pregnant. _

_He wanted to correct them. _

_But he didn't know what to say. _

_--- _

Seven years later—

Today was what anyone would be able to call an uncannily perfect day. The merriment of the crowd matched perfectly the with sight of the Valmonts' immaculate garden and the clear blue skies, and in the midst of the crowd stood the virgin, aged by time and made beautiful by happiness. In her arms she held a tiny pink baby girl dressed in a soft white and pink gown.

(And the guests cooed and stared at the beautiful little girl. Little Cassandra Valmont with her light blonde hair and blinking blue eyes. Her parents' striking features and her father's mouth. Everybody is sure that she will grow up to be gorgeous and wealthy and perfect.)

As the mother held her daughter, another little blonde wearing a frilly pink dress tugged at the hem of her dress.

"Mommy, I can't find my doll."

(It's a doll her father bought for her and she thinks that it is the most beautiful doll in the world because of its long brown hair and dark green eyes.)

"Andrea, I can't help you find it right now…"

Her face fell and she stopped tugging at the dress, her eyes (a darker shade of blue than her parents and her sister combined. Her father said it was because she was good at keeping a lot of secrets (like when she broke the vase and didn't admit it)) scanning the crowd for her nanny. Three year old Andrea Valmont smiled politely at the guests who paused to tell her that she was such a beautiful little girl (she'd been raised to be polite at all times) and upon finding refuge inside the house, she caught a faint glimpse of her father gesticulating at the businessman he was conversing with and she paused to wave at him.

How grown up our handsome angel-demon was now, with a shadow of a beard covering his face. His curly locks were cut shorter and he looked more solidly built, dressed in pressed blue button down shirt that brought out the cerulean hue of his serious blue eyes. He glanced momentarily at his daughter and the slight smile made his lip turn up, Andrea grinned exuberantly before turning around the corner just in time to see the door open.

She halted her steps and looked at the woman who had just entered in fascination.

For the patient reader of this seemingly never ending tale (though I promise you right at this moment that there _will_ be an end) of pride and lust and love, here is where your heart races in anticipation for the reemergence of our favorite (formerly?) broken villain.

While the stepbrother (also known as the aesthetically beautiful deceptive angel-boy-turned-man-and-father-and-husband) had been certain that she is one to make a grand entrance one of these days, it never occurred to him that today, as he spoke to his business partner and concluded that they would have to look into a Zurich based company whose CEO apparently planned to expand in New York since it would affect their overall revenue for the annual year, not to mention become a possible threat to the financial standing of the company he had worked hard to rebuild—

(Look at him sounding so serious and businesslike. It is undoubtedly a far cry from the tempestuous playboy of his earlier years. Nevertheless, these things can be deceptive. Perhaps the departure of a certain (former?) fixation of his instigated these changes for it must be mentioned that after she left, he realized he _had_ to change in order to _stop_ wondering about her and what became of the beautiful temptress that had once again managed to make a grand exit from everybody else's lives, leaving only speculations and rumors in her wake. Sometimes he thinks that this is her final joke to everybody, because he knows that wherever she is, she is amused at the thought that once again, people are talking about her and she is _famous_ and a _legend._)

The adorable little blonde tilted her chin and her blue eyed gaze started from a pair of open toed Manolo Blahnik sandals up the slim, pale calves, the hem of a white cocktail dress (that made her look ironically pure), the thin waist, and finally the long brown hair that was pulled back in a low, elegant ponytail which in turn accentuated her face. And that face, the face that has never been seen for _years_, couldn't have possibly grown more beautiful than in her youth, yet there it was. Carved and chiseled by the years that had passed, with a healthy glow about her cheeks that had never been there when she was with her precious bliss giving powder.

_So pretty_, the first born thought, gazing up at the mysterious guest in admiration while the unnamed woman looked around the room with indifferent green eyes.

Their eyes met and for a moment the child saw a look of recognition and discomfort pass through her features before it completely faded away.

She wondered who this woman was and why she seemed to be causing a ripple of whispers to crawl across the room at a rapid rate.

The recognition of our formerly in absentia vixen was not sudden, it was not like the movies wherein the _entire_ room becomes so silent and thick with anticipation and tension that, as the cliché goes, you could hear a pin drop. It was also not like the opera or at least the theater (both of which the stepsiblings are incidentally fond of), wherein there is sudden drama and loud voices of exaggerated shock and emotion. It was, as I have said earlier, more of… a series of chain events that caused the scattered whispers and phony smiles of greeting followed by:

"Where have you been?"

"We missed you!"

As a handful of acquaintances and perhaps some new ones who were attracted to the impression she gave off as someone _important _and _powerful_ made their way to greet her, the sudden shift of the usual monotony caught the virgin's—now the wife's— attention and she made her way to the ballroom just in time to watch the reaction of the person who must be affected the most out of everybody else.

And we are led here, to this moment of _impact_ (which I'm sure you are all dying to read) wherein the two worlds of the separated stepsiblings (and former lovers and friends and whatnot) collide once again.

He was in the middle of chuckling at an amusing comment his business associate made when he casually glanced over at the loud voices filled with curiosity and flattery.

"You look so beautiful with your hair like that!"

Ensconced in all of their two faced 'comrades' was that distinct shade of brown he would always remember…

The laughter died in his throat and his conversation was forgotten as he narrowed his eyes for some sort of confirmation if he had drunk too much and was seeing things, or if this woman only bore a resemblance to someone he knew so _well_ (but not really in the end, because he had been just as clueless as the others… Such was her vast experience in deception.), or if in fact, this woman in a white dress was none other than the mystery that remained unsolved in his head.

White dresses are difficult to find for women like the vixen. One must find first and foremost, the most precise shade of white to dispel the notion of holiness and banish the thoughts of little girls dressed for their first communion. Then there's the cut and the style of it, because wrongly used, one would be accused of looking just… _wrong._

But her…

He felt the moisture of the glass he had held while he placed it on the tray of a passing waiter, running the other hand through his short locks while he used his handkerchief to wipe the wetness from his palms.

(Both from inexplicable sweat and water)

The stepbrother made his way to her and as he walked resolutely, she quickly caught him with her gaze and a furtive (some would have called it mischievous) half smile that made her eyes glow in its infinite beauty appeared.

It would be a lie to say that he hadn't _missed_ her smile or the look in her eyes that matched his in mischief, because he had. In the past, it was the same kind of smile that always lightened his dull mood or at least have the corners of his full mouth turn up slightly but now he only stared at her with the same kind of expression she herself had worn earlier: apathy.

(Because this is his shield against her poison)

He was annoyed at her. And angry. And indignant. And hurt.

Yes, he admitted it. He was damn hurt about the stunt she pulled seven years ago and he really didn't have the time or the patience to deny it. Wasn't he supposed to be her confidante? How special she had made him feel by telling him her secrets, only to run away and forget to tell him the answer to the biggest riddle that was the reason for her sudden departure she had forced the Upper East Side to wonder about!

Yes, he was angry. In doing what she had done, she knocked him off his own high standing because the lack of knowledge made him feel like he was a part of those she smiled and stabbed secretly… In short, insignificant.

To be honest, he wanted to shake her until her brains were addled so that she would be able to answer him properly, without her sarcasm or her biting wit.

But he couldn't bring himself to touch her in any sense. She had been gone for so long things had just changed. Formerly used to touching her, now she was a stranger to him.

His seemingly long walk full of ponderings ended and he found himself in front of her as her companions surrounded them, gracing the air with mindless chatters of who was married to who and who was divorcing who.

They remained silent, wondering who would speak first after a long period of absolutely doing or hearing _nothing_.

Finally she smiled, never wavering once the wife waved at her in a welcoming gesture and walked to stand beside her husband.

"Big brother, how you've grown up." She broke the thick ice and cocked her head almost teasingly.

"Well you've been gone a long time." He answered curtly, frowning slightly at her. "Where have you been?"

"Isn't that the question of the decade?" the beautiful brunette responded airily, "Come here and give me a kiss."

He only stared at her, transfixed in the manner of a boy watched something that aroused his curiosity.

"Kathryn, it's so nice of you to visit us." The wife smiled brightly, unknowing that the vixen had chosen the white dress in mockery of her.

(White to taint with her dark past and thoughts)

She merely smiled and continued looking at her stepbrother; her hands rising up to touch his stubble roughened cheeks like a doting mother would to her son.

"All grown up…" she repeated, "Come here."

Our enigmatic villain leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheeks in the manner of a European greeting while his posture stiffened at the sudden closeness.

His entire body grew warm. He didn't know if it was from his annoyance or not.

Maybe it was the sense that her husband needed to speak with his stepsister alone (for the wife knew that they had been very close, having grown up together), or even the feeling that her presence was going to be ignored, but the gracious hostess touched her husband's arm and excused herself politely, to be followed with a 'It was nice seeing you again, Kathryn.'.

Thus, we are left with the two once again.

He made another attempt to put some sense into what had happened.

"Why did you leave?"

(He wanted to mention her father but decided against it upon realizing he had to gauge her reaction first because she had _changed_ so _much_.)

This time, the smile showed her teeth.

"That's the famous million dollar question, isn't it?"

"Why won't you answer it?"

He led her to the empty space in the gardens of the sprawling country estate he bought, past the people admiring the large statue of Greek gods and fountains. The scenic beauty was indescribable, but it was lost on her.

"It's irrelevant to answer such questions, Sebastian."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

She was amused, "What are you, twelve?"

"Twelve was a long time ago, Kathryn. I wouldn't be surprised if you really did forget my age, considering how you vanished off the face of the fucking earth without even mentioning why."

She seemed to be enjoying his irritation, "I wasn't aware I had let you know of all the reasons why I did the things I've done. I didn't have any parental supervision growing up, Valmont. Don't start now."

"You're still hardheaded I see."

"And you're still so smug. Don't you think it's funny that some things would never be changed no matter how long it took?"

"Since when have you become so philosophical? The last time you touched a book was when you had your boyfriend's face between your legs and you were in the secluded area of the library."

A sigh escaped her parted lips, rolling her eyes. "Don't be disgusting. Besides, how exactly would you know me? Last time I checked, I was gone and you were about as significant to me as the dirt on your shoe."

Ouch.

"Whose fault is that?"

"If you could call it a 'fault' then it was mine. However, I prefer to call it a choice. Fault would somehow imply making a mistake, and leaving New York hadn't been a mistake for me. I never considered it as such."

"We're arguing in circles. Will you tell me why you left?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I understand that it kills you to know that even though you were given access to most of my dirty secrets, you were never important enough to be privy to the very thing that could make me leave which is really, come to think of it, the biggest of them all."

"Bitch."

"And yet despite how you seem to be offended by my absence you still resort to calling me by fond names."

Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out from her purse while she felt his eyes on her. After quickly conversing with her caller, she placed it back and found him looking at her with that unreadable look she still had trouble comprehending. It was a mixture of fascination and annoyance.

"I have to go," she announced, enjoying the (_almost)_ crestfallen look on his face. "Business meeting."

(You bastard.)

The apathy broke and he laughed at her, the sound of his mirth did not at all make her reciprocate at least a smile.

"You work?" he said between chuckles, "You actually work?"

She fixed a steady glare at him, "Do you know that Zurich based company that's gotten your panties in a twist, Valmont?"

Uh oh. He had a feeling this was not good.

"I own it. Mock me again and I swear I will bury you alive."

She turned and he grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him again.

"Wait."

She pulled her arm free, "For what?"

"I just… I don't want to fight."

"Mocking me usually starts a fight, Valmont. Well, that and your annoying persistent curiosity of my whereabouts for the years that have passed, I would say uneventfully because of my absence."

"Fine." He sighed, looking so good and handsome like that she _almost _wanted to tear his clothes off. As the stepbrother closed his eyes, she could almost pinpoint each long golden lash (she wanted to pull each one of them so that it will _hurt_), he mentally counted one to ten to ward off the threats of his temper ruining this unexpected meeting.

"I was just angry because you didn't tell me, that's all."

"Will this sudden appeasing by any chance be related to the fact that my company could cause your precious Valmont Empire to go bankrupt?"

"No. It's because you're my stepsister and—"

She blinked, "I was _never_ your stepsister, Sebastian. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really do have to go."

"Now? But… (I have so many things I want to say to you! So many things to ask! Why why why why?) won't you just stay for a while? We can talk."

(Because you've been gone _so long_ and I need some fucking answers.)

She raised an eyebrow, "Talk?"

"Yes. Talk, Kathryn. Not fight and not fuck. Just… talk."

"No."

His jaw tightened and he didn't know what to say. "Oh."

Then she watched him shuffle his feet on the ground and took this as a chance to drink the sight in.

Nothing else was new, but seeing him in the flesh again oddly made her feel as though she had come back home in a weird way. Same general features, he had always been such a handsome bastard there was no denying that.

_What happens next? _

"I can't stay." She finally said and then after a long pause—

(Where did you go?)

(Why did you leave?)

(What did you mean when you said I won't ever get to touch you again? What did I do wrong?)

(Were you angry at me?)

(Why?)

She did something that could be called the faintest smile (like she knew what he was thinking), "But I'll come back"

* * *

** I'm sorry I'm just too sleepy to talk to each one of you so I guess you'll have to do with a big THANK YOU! and maybe a LEAVE A REVIEW.  
**

** There we go. Very straight to the point. Goodnight everybody**

** (I'm off to dreamland... Ah... Precious precious sleep!)  
**


	6. Inevitable

VI. Change is that inevitable thing people either despise or love.

_"Daddy, daddy" _

_The stepbrother blinks at the sound of her voice _

_Immediately he sees: _

_A beautiful little blonde with wide and trusting blue eyes. _

_And the thought: _

_(This girl is a part of me. I'm partly responsible for her existence.) _

_He wonders then upon remembering the photograph given to him _

_(That of a beautiful, impassive brunette and a decaying old man) _

_Was this what Kathryn was like when she was young? _

_Did she look at him the way my daughter looks at me now? _

_He couldn't conceive of the thought _

_But maybe it had happened _

_A long, long time ago._

_--- _

She hasn't returned yet.

He spent the rest of the celebration for his second daughter's arrival to the world pacing the garden with a cigarette in hand, puffing one stick after another while his naturally arched eyebrows met in thought. He hadn't chain smoked since there was a crisis in his company (his two top executives had been embezzling funds into their own accounts, the greedy bastards) and had promised his wife that he wouldn't afterwards.

Smoke. Puff. Breathe.

His nostrils inhaled the smoke that came out of his full mouth, suddenly becoming anti social by ostracizing himself from the crowd. How can he continue to indulge in meaningless small talk when _she_ had made her presence known?

He cleared his throat and scratched his stubbly jaw, glancing at his wristwatch from time to time as though there had been an agreed time upon when she would show herself again. Business? Was it really about business or had it just been her way of rejecting him?

The troubled (and old and handsome and everything all wrapped up in a well built tall man with the most striking of features) stepbrother closed his eyes for a moment while he sat down on one of the lawn chairs.

The cigarette was wedged between his middle and forefinger as he pulled his palms to cover his eyes, breathing evenly.

(Maybe it's another nightmare he wants to wake up from)

What is this restlessness, this feeling of inadequacy?

"Sebastian?"

He looked up and saw his wife looking at him in concern. Beside her stood his eldest, his little blonde beautiful spoiled princess, looking curious at his current state of weariness.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, smiling slightly while Andrea let go of the wife's hand and walked cautiously toward him, her little golden eyebrows knitted in the same manner as his had been earlier.

(I made this little girl and she is _mine._)

"Come here, baby." He spoke in a gentle voice (never the kind of tone he used in his former life of conquests and sex), beckoning to his little girl. He marveled at her beauty and saw both him and his wife in her eyes and in her mannerisms. Fatherhood is a rush he never expected, much like _love_ but nevertheless it's there. Whenever he sees the straight blonde locks as light as the early stages of the sun's rising coupled with that oval shaped face and those blue eyes that need only blink as a shred of innocence (or perhaps coyness when she wanted something) to make him surrender his will or his anger, he usually forgets everything else for a few minutes and he would carefully carry Andrea because she liked cuddling her small body against his while she rested.

The woman he had vowed to spend the rest of his life with peered at him before a smile graced her face at watching their daughter get hoisted in his arms.

(She thinks that she is lucky to have him and that their family is perfect.)

"You look ill." She said, brushing back a few blond curls from his unblemished forehead affectionately. "Are you alright?"

He looked at his wife and then down at their daughter (who by now wrapped her short chubby arms around his ribs) and nodded wordlessly. She heard something break from inside the house and winced, hastily kissing his mouth before hurrying back to investigate.

We are left with such an adorable little girl and her handsome, boy-man father (who by now threw the cigarette away). If you had been present at that moment, you would see that they looked more like siblings than father and daughter because despite the shadow of a beard he had let grow, he still looked so young.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

She pulled away from him and took his face in her hands (with fingers like thick matchsticks), "You look sad."

"I'm just tired." He answered, rubbing her back.

She stared at him again and he looked right back, noting the flush of her cheeks and the way she was so _open_ and _innocent_ and angelic at that moment.

(This is his life now.)

"You're lying." She announced, smoothing away the wrinkles that began to form on his forehead.

"Am I?" he said, chuckling at her aptness. "And what, Ms. Andrea Valmont, makes you so sure that I've just lied to you?"

"Well," she told him rather elegantly, frowning. "I'm very smart, you know."

He looked at her, indulging in her childishness as he pulled her closer to him.

(When he does this he remembers that odd feeling he had the first time he entered the hospital room and found his drawn out wife holding a tiny pink infant in her arms. He wants to remember that feeling _now _and hold on to that because _something_ is making him _forget_.)

"Really?"

She nodded, smiling widely to show a perfect set of small teeth. "Uh huh. I know what you're doing."

"You tell me then." He planted a kiss on her forehead.

(Because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing waiting and being like this.)

"You don't like talking to those people because they're boring."

He touched her miniature Cupid's bow mouth, enjoying its texture and the way it felt at his fingertips. (The miracle of life)

"You're right, Andrea." His eyes twinkled; already its focus was on his darling daughter despite that nagging feeling of another female that was currently not in the vicinity.

(Or so he thought)

She giggled and grasped his thumb, her fingers encircling the circumference.

She looked young and beautiful. Perfection in a little pretty blonde.

Thus sat the father, looking momentarily appeased and peaceful while he indulged in the _life_ he helped create because even up until now it serves as a wonder for him. She played with his tie and he laughed along with her.

Unbeknownst to the little girl, she served as a dream catcher for her father, sieving the nightmares from his eyes. When he was with her, his thoughts left the puzzle he wanted so badly to solve.

(Or to put back together)

And they were such a beautiful sight.

-0-0-0-

They were a familiar picture, haunting in its happiness.

We then shift to the lone figure of a smartly dressed woman partly hidden from her stepbrother's view. The sun lovingly touched the strands of her brown hair, emphasizing the light brown highlights which in turn lightened the dark shade of her green eyes.

_"Daddy, do I look pretty?" _

_ A pair of warm green eyes surveyed her and she felt loved and safe. _

_ "You look very beautiful, princess." _

_ "Really? Mommy said I'm too fat. Does that mean I won't be able to eat those chocolates you give me?" _

_ "Of course not, Kathryn." _

_ He hoisted her up and she felt the scratchy wool of his gray coat against her legs, "Don't you listen to your mother. She's wrong." _

_ "Can't I go to your meeting with you, Daddy? I don't want to go to another party." _

_ "No, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead and she saw a young blonde with brown eyes standing behind them. "You can't." _

_ He put her down and gathered his things, exchanging a look with the woman who smiled and bent her knees to pat little Kathryn's head. _

_ She did not like this woman who smiled too much. She felt like this 'kindness' was an act to take her father's attention away from her. She decided she did not particularly trust blonde and innocent looking women because they took what was hers. _

_The beautiful brown haired little girl jerked away from her cold hand and began to glare menacingly. _

_ She hated this woman. What kind of woman stole other women's husbands and broke marriages and families apart? _

_ (I will never become like her and like my mother. **Never.**) _

She remained unseen, watching silently as though it was a sight that perturbed and aroused her curiosity.

(He looked so contented with that beautiful (yes, the vixen grudgingly admits it because even though she disliked her stepbrother's wife, she was honest enough to say that she was… _pretty) _child sitting on his lap. She wanted to tear out a limb from his body so he will _hurt_ because it was surreal for him to be that happy and to have that glimmer in his blue eyes over another _blonde._)

His hand was being played with by his happy daughter while he leaned forward so that she could play with his stubble. When she brushed her soft cheeks against it, her giggle made the vixen wince.

"Kathryn, why don't you come inside? We simply _must_ hear all about you."

She saw her stepbrother stop laughing.

They looked at each other.

Andrea's mirth remained.

He blinked and then frowned.

_(What happens next? What?) _

She glanced at the little girl he held lovingly.

_"Daddy, please don't leave me." _

_ "I promise I'll be good, I will! I'll stop eating chocolates! Please! I'll be good, I promise, Daddy!" _

_ "Who's that woman you're leaving with? Why did she kiss you on the mouth?" _

_ "I hate her! Mommy calls her a slut! That's what she is! She's a slut, Daddy! She's taking you from me!" _

_ "Do not disrespect her in that manner, young lady!" _

_ She screamed in her tears as she threw a hateful glare at her father, "I hate you! I hate you so much!" _

Then she took a step forward and felt the grass tickle the bottom of her feet.

_"Fire or ice, Kathryn?" _

_ He was so handsome and when she glanced at the mirror and caught a glimpse of his mouth nuzzling her neck, she had smiled to herself and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. _

_ (You are mine.) _

_ "FUCK OFF!" _

_ His words a pleading whisper. _

_ "Kathryn, please." _

_ "I hate you. I fucking hate you." _

_ (What if… What if… What if… You were mine instead?) _

_ "YOU DON'T KNOW THEM ALL! DON'T JUDGE ME BY THE LIMITED AMOUNT OF INFORMATION IN YOUR PATHETIC, QUEER NOTEBOOK!" _

_ "Tell me your secrets." _

_ "Don't touch me. You don't ever get to touch me again." _

_ "Sebastian." _

_ "I'm not letting you in anymore." _

_ "You're still hardheaded I see." _

_ "And you're still so smug. Don't you think it's funny that some things would never be changed no matter how long it took?" _

_ You were mine before. _

He whispered something in his daughter's ear and she hopped off his lap. By the time he started walking to reach her, the silent guest had already turned and walked away.

_I can't stay but I'll come back. _

Come back to what, exactly?

-0-0-0-

The next time he saw her, they were seated on the opposite sides of a long, mahogany table. Both were flanked with lawyers and business associates, and it was such a formal atmosphere that she seemed out of place there. They both did.

"What you're offering is preposterous and quite frankly an insult to my partner. Surely you've taken a look at our portfolios for the past five years. Ever since this company has been established by Ms. Merteuil, we have been able to acquire twice the same number of clients that your company, Mr. Valmont. Thank you for the formalities, Mr. Jonas, but unless you change what is written there I'm afraid you won't have our company as an ally."

The two CEOs eyed each other or rather, he watched her smile slightly and tilt her head to confer with the handsome, serious looking man who possessed the lightest shade of blond hair. The eloquent speaker then nodded slightly and the current (still perturbed) head executive of the Valmont Empire noticed how the vixen lightly squeezed her partner's hand while she shared a conspiring grin with the arrogant looking moron (in the stepbrother's opinion).

He wanted to break her apathy. Their meetings were not supposed to be this cold.

"Kathryn, how's Damien? Last I heard, he got busted for possession. Isn't he doing five years in prison?"

He knew it had the possibility of angering her, but at this point, he felt like he had to do _something_.

It worked. Despite Damien's involvement in her accidental overdose, she viewed it as an awakening and even felt a small amount of gratitude for what had happened seven years before. However, remembering such things like how he had been there when she was on the brink of joining the Satan and the sinners down below also reminded her of how the smug sounding bastard who sat across her spent that same night in the virgin slut's house.

_ (Where was I? Where did I go? Why did I leave?) _

_(Wrong questions to ask me. Where were you?) _

Her right hand gripped the silver fountain pen she had been using to jot down notes in her notepad. He saw her skin turn pale at the tight pressure.

"Sebastian," she began and the entire room fell silent. "If you're not going to conduct yourself in a formal manner during this meeting, I don't see the point in discussing a possible merger with your company."

He remained quiet as did she while they stared each other down, both refusing to budge.

(React for me, Kathryn. Do something. I need to see that you haven't shut me out completely.)

Thus, he went for another shot at cracking her ice cold solid barrier. The more scathing, the better the chances of getting her to say something. He knew his business would lose what could be the biggest chance for attaining maximum profit in its lifetime, but it was something he would risk.

He shook his head slightly, "You haven't changed at all. I could have sworn the room dropped a few degrees the moment you entered. I'm curious though, just exactly how did you build your grand enterprise? Did you use your inheritance or did you do what your mother would have done and married a rich moron who went for your open legs?"

Her eyes flashed in silent fury at his audacity, if she had any more strength she would have broken the pen in half. Her companions, the male blond and the dark haired female who sat on her right side like demons guarding Lucifer, exchanged a look before the male (why did the stepbrother dislike him so?) glared at the sharp tongued curly haired man who didn't seem to be angry at all. In fact, having ignored the appeasing voice of the vixen's female companion as it echoed throughout the boardroom ("Please be quiet! I cannot believe the nerve of this man-this man you call your _leader_ insulting Ms. Merteuil!"), his blue eyes seemed to stare intently at the now slightly shaking (with rage) lighter brown haired executive as though he waited for something.

He waited for an explosion of expletives and an entire paragraph filled with curses and insults and threats, but there were none. In fact, she only glared at him as she swallowed the words that wanted to badly to retaliate to what he said but no, things have changed.

"Gentlemen," she answered instead, her eyes flickering coolly over his board members. "Thank you for your time, but I'm afraid your proposal will not be accepted. If I may make a suggestion so as to help you avoid such results in the future…"

She stared at him like she hated him.

(Why?)

"Learn to put a leash on some of your colleagues who lack tact."

Her companions began to follow the crowd (some were shaking their heads in bewilderment at their boss's odd behavior) but as she passed him, he grabbed her arm.

"Stay."

She slapped him loudly and the majority of the people who had begun to leave stopped and watched in fascination.

"Don't tell me what to do, Sebastian. You don't have the right."

He glared at the nosy spectators, "I'd like a moment with Ms. Merteuil if you don't mind."

He saw her give a quick nod to the blond man and the dark haired woman.

As soon as the door closed, she shoved him. Hard. His bottom landed on the table and he nearly fell had it not been for his arms offering support.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Kathryn?" he asked angrily, "One minute you're hot and the next you're fucking cold! I saw you a week ago, you came back. Did you only mean to let me know that you did so I could watch you leave? Is this another one of your sick and twisted games?"

"I've had enough of the sick and twisted games!"

"Then why are you doing this?" he laughed hollowly, "Then again, it's always been like this, hasn't it? This love-hate fucking relationship we have is tiring."

_ (Not love. Never love.) _

He barraged her with questions then, like a dam had burst inside of him and out spewed the mysteries that had poisoned him for seven years.

"Why did you leave? Where did you go? Why were you angry with me? Was it because of your father? Why did you stay away for so long? How come nobody knew where you were?"

He was glad that the boardroom possessed thick walls and an exceptionally heavy wooden door because his voice had risen at the release of accumulated frustration.

She smiled slowly, and at that moment she looked like the stepsister he once knew. Cruel and beautiful, cold but never when it came to him.

"Did you miss me while I was away?"

(Yes-No-I don't know!)

"Did you go Paris? Germany? Or were you already in Zurich?"

_(I went everywhere.) _

"What did you do while I was gone? Did you continue on with the virgin or did you go back to your bedhopping ways and then decided that you liked Ms. Purity above everybody else?"

_ (Even me?) _

(Annette had always been there.)

Yet, has it always been her?

It went like this for a few charged minutes, the two firing at each other with questions neither gave any answers to. She looked like she wanted to kill him. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

Finally, they ran out of questions.

They've run out of answers a long time ago.

He breathed heavily, now exhausted from arguing with her while she stood there, staring at him with those wide green eyes that instigated countless of memories inside his head.

(The touch of her skin. The way she moaned. The way she felt underneath him. The way she said his name…)

"Meet me tonight." He said quietly, "At our old house. Have dinner with me there just so we can talk."

"No."

That was the house where she came undone before.

"Something's not finished with us and you know it."

"Nothing started with us, Sebastian."

He was running out of options and even though he _hated_ begging, he did it anyway. With a gentle hand, he fixed her blouse (which had somehow ruffled during their argument and her gesticulations). His fingers grazed the skin on her chest and he thought he heard her take a sharp breath before he withdrew his hand.

They looked at each other.

(I missed you.)

_(Things are different now.) _

"Please." He whispered, "Please, Kathryn. Make it end. Make it stop."

(There are casualties in the form of beautiful blonde females)

"Stop what?"

He hesitated, for even he did not know what his words meant. Stop what, exactly? Stop this feeling of unease at seeing her again after all these years? Stop this feeling of an unsolved mystery that challenged his intellect? Stop the sense of protectiveness he felt over her even though she had severed their ties so long ago? Stop this curiosity he had because he knew it would not lead to something good? Stop seeking closure?

He didn't know.

She repeated her question, this time in a voice somehow filled with unease.

"Stop what, Sebastian?"

He sat down and tugged off his tie, looking at the carpet.

"I don't know." He finally answered quietly, "But you-you've started something."

* * *

**A/N: Ever noticed how in the previous chapter(s) there were a lot of double meanings? Take for instance the Kathryn's line: **_"Don't you think it's funny that some things would never be changed no matter how long it took?"_

**Or this one: **_"I can't stay, but I'll come back." _

**Makes you wonder what she was referring to… I just love writing things like that. **

**Or even:** (Who was it that said even the coldest got burned?)

**I was actually hoping someone would catch that. I distinctly remember that I used the last statement/concept in one of my fics (though I can't remember which…), so when I asked who said it, I was referring to myself. Lol ;-)**

**B: I wonder what her secret was too. I hope I'll find out soon so I can tell it to you guys. Fantastic, great, eh, it's all subjective. ;-)**

**Katie: Actually Katie, VeritasLuxMea and I are so alike sometimes I wonder if we're just two halves of the same person. I guess it shows in her writing, although I have to say that that sometimes she writes better than me. I almost wish I had written An Unlikely Story. I don't know why. You think me and her could co-write a story together? That'd be a nice fic, wouldn't you say?**

**Celeste: Thanks for visiting that fic. I'm glad my shameless endorsement worked. Lol**


	7. Obstacle

VII. Sometimes the biggest obstacle is silence.

_He looks up from his desk at the sound of her yelling. _

_It doesn't take much to tell that it's Kathryn. _

_Her voice is full of anger just like her soul. _

_The door to his room swings open and he sees her. _

_Hair disarrayed. Eyes furious. Clothing disheveled. _

_"He fucking cheated on me!" _

_He knows that. He arranged it. She was getting too close and he grew _

_Jealous. _

_"That bastard!" _

_She grabs him and holds on to him. _

_Mashes her mouth against his to remove the humiliation. _

_Together they wade the waters of forgetting._

_--- _

Daunting.

It was the first thing that came to his mind as he was greeted with the spacious domicile of his stepsister. Everything was clean and opulent; the high ceiling was adorned with a single, large chandelier that had gems twinkling like diamonds while the Saturday sunlight passed through it.

She never came to their old house.

He wanted to know _why_.

The servants passing by stopped for a moment and looked curiously at him, who was this handsome, well dressed man who visited their employer? Nobody ever had the right to come into Ms. Merteuil's house without being approved of.

"Where is she?" he asked in a modulated tone, licking his lips and wondering why it had suddenly gone dry at the prospect of another interaction with his stepsister who was now a stranger to him.

He was met with a meek reply and after nodding curtly, he proceeded down the long hallway, admiring the paintings and photographs that adorned her walls. The entire place screamed of her name, from the beauty and the coldness and something that was just… her. He couldn't explain it. All he knew was that he had to speak with her. All he knew was that he was drawn to her silence.

Perhaps even her resistance. He wanted to break through that.

As he reached the end the indoor pool met him, and beyond the marble and the enticing blue water glimmering with seemingly hidden diamonds in its cold depths, was a sliding glass door. He surmised for this to be some sort of meditation room due to the décor and the small fountain that spewed water continuously across pebbles and glass.

There in the midst of the serene furnishings sat his stepsister, oh so mysterious and ever alluring as always despite the fact that she was unaware of a spectator. Dressed in a tight workout white top that showed her perfectly toned body and a pair of loose, cotton pants that bore the same color, it was like he was watching someone else. This was not the woman he lived with. She was so different, from the concentrated, intense look on her face, to the light brown highlights of her long hair.

In front of her was a man he assumed to be her yoga instructor, talking with the same appeasing expression as she had while the vixen (so flushed and white and perfect in the manner of an statue nobody could ever touch) moved with the fluidity he knew she had always possessed. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and he could see the muscles of her back move while she continued her motions, green eyes still closed and her breathing calm.

He wasn't sure why he even thought of such a thing, but watching her at that instant, watching the way she moved, the way her arms and legs and everything slowly shift, the way her closed lids would sometimes open and she would bear no marks of coldness or indifference but that utter look of blissful peace he knew she searched for in the past, the way she listened aptly and nodded, succumbing her control in exchange for placidity, he was certain that whatever she'd gone through, whatever reason she had for leaving, she was and will always be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and that he was proud of all that she had become. It was never really a surprise to him. He knew she wouldn't settle for anything less.

The thrill of watching her at one of her most private, unguarded moments sent a thrill down his spine and he used his shoulder to lean on the marble pillar.

She raised her arms over her head and placed her palms together, stretching while a patch of unmarred skin on her stomach peeked from under her top.

He smiled when he saw a smile peek at the corners of her mouth, probably at something her instructor said.

Her mouth parted while she exhaled, it was pink and soft and it screamed enticement.

He never knew how it felt like to kiss her when they had sex.

She was sensual even in her meditation, slow and deliberate in the manner of a cat unfurling itself. He didn't know how long he stared, but then it was suddenly over and she stood up, one hand massaging her neck while she took a drink of water. As she turned, he straightened and their eyes met.

He saw a glimpse of that secret smile she wore before it was replaced by her usual apathy. The yoga instructor remained unnoticed while he departed, giving the two their privacy.

"I never had you as the yoga type, Kathryn."

She smirked, wiping her face with a small towel. "I never had you as the stalker type, Valmont. Do you know that your persistence to gain my attention reminds me of a very hardheaded little schoolboy with a crush?"

"And yet despite the various changes that had happened, your ego still remains the same. Unusually large."

Her right eyebrow rose, "Really?"

"Yes."

"Then pray tell Sebastian, what could you possibly be doing in my house on a Saturday morning when you should probably be out spending time with the Brady Bunch?"

He quickly searched his mind for an answer, "Business. I wanted to go over some documents with you."

Her eyes surveyed him and it was clear that she didn't believe him. He didn't believe it either.

"Where's your briefcase? Or any documents? Do you even have a pen? Paper? Anything that would support your statement?" she asked flippantly.

He couldn't come up with anything.

She pursed her lips before turning to walk away, "That's what I thought."

He sighed, following her.

"Kathryn."

"You like my name, don't you?" she asked, that secret smile on her face was back. "You keep saying it."

"I waited for you last night."

Her hands rested on the knobs of the double doors that then led to a bedroom with a dark green motif, carelessly pushing past it while she headed for her closet.

"Did you?" she said, distracted. He was annoyed to no end how much she treated him like he was a nuisance. Who _was_ this woman?

"I fell asleep on the fucking couch."

"I never said I was going to meet you."

"Will you stop doing that and have the courtesy to look at me?"

The rummaging stopped and for a beat, there was a pause. He saw the beads of sweat gracing her toned back and perversely wondered what it would be like to have her again.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly, turning around to face him.

He opened his mouth and nothing came out.

She stared at him for a long time before heaving another sigh.

"I don't plan to wait for you to repossess the ability to speak."

He felt her shoulder brush against his as she strode past him and entered the bathroom, her head held up high.

Things felt colder when the doors shut behind her.

What did he want? He had no idea whatsoever.

He walked around her room, taking note of the various photographs of her with important and influential people. As soon as he passed a rather large framed photograph of her with another man whose arms were around her, he felt his heart drop and somehow he knew that this feeling was something akin to jealousy.

But why? What right did he have to feel jealous when his affair with her had long died?

His inner justifications were of no use as he picked up the photograph and studied it, using his thumb to trace the same secret smile that had graced her face earlier. The man possessed blond hair, obviously wealthy and attractive, with his head tilted to look at her.

(And that conspiracy filled smile his stepsister had with this stranger! He loathed it. He didn't know why, but that he did.)

He tried to remember whether she had a ring on her left finger but couldn't recall it.

Would it have made a difference if she did? What could he have done then?

(Nothing.)

He decided to inquire about this man and since his curiosity was nowhere near being satisfied, he opened a few drawers, hoping for some sort of clue as to who she had become.

Underneath the pile of documents he pulled out an old photograph, hastily put away and forgotten afterwards. It was of a little girl with brown hair and green eyes safely carried by a regal looking man who possessed the same shade of dark she did.

This time he smiled again, entranced at the utter look of pure innocence on the child's face since it was not something he saw in the grown up version anymore.

(Beautiful little brunette girl she was.)

With that piece of the puzzle, he eagerly wanted to look for more.

(Unpeel his one time fixation. He needed to.)

The door started to open and he stuffed the photograph in his inner jacket pocket, using his knee to close the drawer.

She stepped out, a blue silk robe loosely tied around her body while she towel dried her hair.

(Creamy thighs and soft skin.)

"You're still here."

A moment of clarity came to our troubled stepbrother then, because all he saw were just coded glimpses of his perfect beautiful temptress. He knew then what he wanted, from remembering the little girl who seemed to have her father mean the world to her, to remembering that disturbing photograph of her looking young and actually happy with another man, to even that photograph of her and her father seven years before (when her father was not a part of her world anymore).

"I want…" he started and she stopped to look at him.

An array of words popped in his head.

(Perfect. Gorgeous. Pale. Flushed. Soft pink lips. Temptress. Sinner.)

"To know you."

Clearly she hadn't expected this answer and she frowned, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"I want to know you."

"But you already know me."

"See, that's the thing, Kathryn. I thought I did."

It seemed like his entire body had a mind of its own, or at least had a mind that belonged to her and was at her every whim. In mechanical movements, he moved toward her and she remained unfazed at the proximity, even meeting his eye as he advanced.

(Like two predators eyeing each other)

"You told me your secrets," he said quietly, "and you let me know that if I touched you here…"

(She breathed sharply when his finger touched the left side of her neck.)

"Your heart would beat faster… Or that you loved it when…"

(He felt the blood rush to his head when his fingertips felt the skin on her ribs.)

"I touched you here."

"It was just sex." She pushed him away but he never moved an inch. "Sex and my twisted games with other people."

He nodded, "Exactly. You told me your secrets; you made me learn what it took to pleasure you, but never anything else. Never why you made yourself sick, or why you hated your father, or why you—"

"Stop right now before I throw you out."

(Her voice shook a little bit.)

"No, I will not."

"What does it matter, Sebastian? What the fuck does it all have to do with now?"

(Too late!)

"Do you know why I was angry with you?" he whispered, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I don't have to know."

"I know, but I'm going to tell you anyway."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, feeling her body press against his chest and her damp hair felt cold against his skin.

She remained quiet and still in his arms.

It wasn't a move to seduce her; it was something he had wanted to do since she disappeared. There was just something about touching her, about feeling her _exist_ and _alive_ that made him feel as though he had just arrived from a very long trip and she was the home he'd thought about during his travels.

"Sebastian," she spoke quietly and her felt her breath against his neck. "You have to stop."

(You have to before this starts into something we will both end up hating.)

He wouldn't listen. He should have, but he can't.

"I was angry because I missed you."

This is a world full of whys.

"I don't know why you left or what the fuck happened to you," he murmured, sounding like the doting stepbrother she always remembered him to be before the virgin came into their lives. "and I know that you can be too fucking stubborn so I'm not going to persist. What I do want you to know is that despite everything, despite how angry you may have made me, I'm—"

He paused in hesitation.

She fought to stay reserved. Her eyes fell on the framed photograph and she tried to _remember_ another.

A long sleeved arm slowly went and wrapped her in an engulfing embrace that surprised them both. He felt her forehead against his face and she was soft and warm and she smelled the same. It was the scent preserved in his memories.

He began forgetting the way only she made him forget his morals and his boundaries. With her, nothing of the sort existed. It was only eternally sinful liberation.

"I'm glad you're back." He finished inaudibly. "If you won't let me in, then it's fine. I just wanted you to know that."

(What if what if what if…?)

"Sebastian…"

He closed his eyes, "Hmm?"

(Little blonde girl so trusting of her father how he loved her cherished her adored her. Little brunette girl hugging her father tightly crying screaming please don't leave.)

"You should go."

He released her and nodded, turning to shut the doors while she sat on the bed and lost herself in her own thoughts.

* * *

**A/N: Why, yes I know what you're all thinking. I'm such a super writer to have two updates in one day! (Can you sense the sarcasm?)**

**Celeste: You'd like to know what happened since she left? Why, what a coincidence... So do I...**

**Katie: I think we will. I think I'll even ask her to contribute a chapter here or I might guest write over there. Hmm... There's a very good idea right there...**

**Everybody else-- Thanks anyway. I'm tired as fucking hell and I still gotta go be responsible now. -sigh- It's so difficult to be me. Would anybody like to trade places? **


	8. Bury

**Right. Not exactly the update most of you were expecting. There's a reason behind that. Anyway, previously on this one:**

**S and K started out as fuck buddies, and it was all fine until K realized she wanted more. Since S was in fact involved with A, K pushed him away and found D, incidentally a drug pushing and using bastard, the exact opposite of S. One night, however, K takes too much and ends up at the hospital. S, on the other hand, arrives at the hospital (after many, many missed calls from Blaine) only to realize that K was gone. Many, many years pass and everyone's all grown up. S is married to A with two children (girls) and during a party to celebrate the newly born youngest Valmont, K surprises everyone by making an appearance. She makes no mention of the reason why she left, only that she is now very, very successful and is the head of her own company.**

**S of course, finds himself attached to her. He tries to know the reason why she left and where she's been (among many, many questions) but she finds ways to dodge the questions. Their respective companies have a meeting discussing the possible merger/partnership between the two but S risks everything just to get her to react by taunting her about D, her ex. She does react and the meeting is called to a stop, but as they leave the boardroom, he asks her to meet him at their old house.**

**K never shows up. S goes to her house on a weekend and gets a glimpse of the person she has become, along with a photo of her with another man, leading him to wonder who the fuck the man was. As soon as she gets out of the shower, they get into another argument and it leads to him realizing that he doesn't know her anymore, and probably never did. At least, not as much as he would have liked. **

**Therefore, when asked what on earth he wants from her, S simply replies that he wants to know her.**

**That's it so far. I hope I've summed it up well. **

* * *

VIII. Some things can never be buried

_"Sebastian, do you think I'm pretty?"_

_He smiles._

_"What kind of question is that?"_

_"A valid one."_

_She pouts. Then smiles back._

_A happy bubble in her chest is about to burst and poison her soon._

_"You're my pretty princess."_

_He murmurs and she laughs at how pathetic he just sounded._

_And she smiles some more on the inside because she knew he was telling the truth._

_--  
_

Today, they buried his wife's father.

By all accounts, the best setting for this kind of scenario would be the fact that it was raining heavily that day, and the mourners would be covered in black umbrellas as the rain pelted the earth like a million heavy tears falling from the sky.

But this wasn't the weather today. As the priest talked about how death is merely another beginning, the sky was in fact a perfect, cloudless blue. There were no umbrellas present, save from the occasional sun allergic socialite (more on the stepbrother's side of the fence, they were there merely because _he_ was there) who sniffled into her handkerchief while her assistant held the umbrella for her. The wife was sobbing quietly into her own handkerchief as the stepbrother-husband dutifully wrapped an arm around her shoulders, their two daughters were there as well, the eldest Andrea was dressed in black with her pretty blonde hair up in a ribbon and baby Julia was sleeping in the bassinet while the nanny periodically checked the baby to see if she was comfortable or needed something.

Andrea Valmont's feet hurt a little from standing for too long, but she knew that it wasn't wise to complain at that point. As her Mommy cried and her Daddy murmured reassuring things to her, the little blonde could only shuffle her feet and pick at her white ribbon. Of course, she did feel sad that Grandpa was dead, but it wasn't the casket she was looking at. It was her Daddy.

She knew that a lot of ladies liked her Daddy, because of his blue eyes and his smile, and even though she secretly feared that he would leave her, her baby sister, and her Mommy for one of the pretty women who always made him laugh, a part of her knew that he wouldn't do that. Because he was her Daddy and he would pick her up whenever she came to his office and place her on his knee and she would hug him and smell his cheek it smells good a little spicy and woodsy Andrea liked that, it reminded her of forests and fairies and adventures (even though she knew her Daddy wasn't the outdoor type). She knew because of the way he looked at her and at Mommy and Julia, and she knew because when it had just been the three of them, she had woken up really early one morning and found her parents in their bedroom, asleep. And she rarely ever saw Daddy because he was always away on business so she jumped in with them and they woke up and her Daddy was so handsome and he was smiling, his jaw had a little bit of hair, fuzzy fizzy beard, as she called it. And then she asked him if she was his princess (because she had watched a lot of Disney movies then) and then his smile fell a bit and then he got a little sad like he was remembering something but then she kissed him against and snuggled into his warm arms and he chuckled and said of course.

"Pretty princess," he'd said. His gaze was far off.

She was his princess. And just her. Well maybe her sister too.

But her feet really were starting to hurt. And rather than pull Ms. Tomlins (the nanny) away from baby Julia, Andrea slipped away from them stealthily, trying to find a place for her to be able to rest. There were no more seats available, so after sending a mental note to her Grandpa for slipping away from his funeral, she finally found refuge underneath a tree a few feet away from everybody else. It was then that she realized the woman at her house a while ago, the woman her Daddy seemed to know very well, was also there. She wasn't there to visit Grandpa, though. She was on the other side, standing in front of a grave with her head bowed.

Andrea watched and watched and watched because the woman was just so pretty and she really wanted to be like her.

Then the woman turned. Her green eyes seemed to stare right through her and Andrea, instead of feeling scared, felt even proud that she had caught the woman's attention. She ran and ran towards the woman like there was some sort of magnet pulling her and then when she finally reached the woman, she was red and out of breath and her feet hurt really really badly she bit her lip to stop the tears from coming out of her eyes. Stupid shoes.

The woman smiled. Uneasily.

"Is your Daddy here?" She asked, looking behind Andrea.

She nodded, suddenly very shy.

"I'm sure he's looking for you," continued the woman.

She shrugged, then shuffled her feet some more. Then nodded again. She winced at her feet, now they felt like someone was stepping on them again and again and her lip trembled because she was embarrassed she didn't want to cry.

"You should go back now," the woman said.

Andrea's face burned. Does that mean she didn't want her here? Then her feet hurt some more and then her lip trembled some more and then she started to cry. The woman looked alarmed upon noticing the tears, and then Andrea pointed at her shoes and whispered how much it hurt.

The woman took a closer look at her shoes and then smiled, her indifference leaving her.

"I had the exact same pair when I was a little girl too," she mused. "I can't believe they still make them, those inhuman bastar…er… shoemakers."

"My Daddy bought them for me," Andrea said. "I don't want to take them off, he bought them for me because he said it was what pretty princesses wore."

Another expression came over the woman's face and she blinked it away.

"Take me back?" Andrea asked, her teary eyes filled with adoration for the green eyed pretty woman. Then her small hand took hers so she wouldn't be able to get away and she also wanted to hold her hand, it was so soft, she marveled to herself.

The woman hesitated. Then looked at Andrea's shoes. Then she started walking, her hand clasping Andrea's.

Every step felt like someone was throwing stones at her feet, but Andrea tried her best not to let this bother her. Her heart was flying, she was walking with _the_ woman after all. But the soles of her feet were being shredded (it felt like that) and so a cry of pain resurfaced from her tiny lips anyway and they both stopped walking.

"Shall I um," the woman blinked, obviously unsure. "Carry you?"

"Please?" Whispered a humbled Andrea. She held out her arms and then she was off the ground, safely into the woman's arms.

"I'm Andrea," it had occurred to her that she never even knew the woman's name. It made her blush again, how she had forgotten her manners.

"Kathryn," the woman answered in her ear quietly. "You should know that I'm not very good with children."

"Really?"

"Yes," replied the woman in an amused voice. "A few years ago, I would have left you even if your feet hurt. I would have even laughed at you."

Andrea smelled her hair. Rubbed strands of it between her fingers.

"I think you're pretty," Andrea whispered in her ear anyway.

And the woman looked into her eyes again, this time at a closer distance.

"You have Sebastian's eyes." She told Andrea. "It's like I'm looking at him."

"You and Daddy, are you good friends?"

"In a way, yes. But not so much these days."

"Why? I want you to come visit us."

They were reaching the funeral now. People were already starting to notice them.

"Trust me," she said, her eyes so serious and solemn it made Andrea feel like she was in a church or something (like when her Mommy brought her to mass a couple of times). "It won't do you much good of befriending or admiring me. It would be better for all of us if your Daddy and I remained as we are now."

"But why?" Andrea pouted.

The vixen did a double take on that pout. It was uncanny and eerie, how this child could pout so much like he did. She already had the eyes, she had to have the pout as well? It was unfair. It was unfair that the one who had to be attached to her was the one who looked like him.

It was too late to slip away unnoticed now, because the stepbrother had in fact taken notice and was now walking towards them. She put Andrea down and tried to smile.

"I'm sorry," the vixen said instead, choosing to ignore the silent turmoil in his intense blue eyes. "I had her shoes when I was a little girl, you know. They hurt like hell."

"I know," he replied, watching as Andrea went back to her Mommy.

The vixen's eyebrow rose. "You knew I had the same pair or you knew that they hurt like hell? Why would you even buy your daughter a pair if you knew it hurt?"

"I didn't know they'd hurt her." He looked down, then up at her again. Like he couldn't look at her for a long time, and that glances at her would have to be timed. Because then he might not be held responsible for the things he could say if he stared for too long. Or the things he might do.

"I told you about it once. We were in bed."

"I remember that," he said softly, wondering why he wanted everybody else to disappear. "I just forgot about the part where you said that it hurt. All I remember is that you had a pair once."

"I see," mask replaced on her face. She nodded stiffly. "Well, I'd better go."

"What were you doing here?"

"None of your business,"

He took her hand. She flinched. He didn't let go. Used his thumb to caress her palm. He remembered what it was like to caress her face, why did he remember that all of a sudden?

But she didn't ask him to let go. She only stared at their hands. He held on for as long as he dared. There was an unfamiliar thudding in his chest. They didn't know if they were still being watched, but as another anguished sob broke the silence between them, the vixen blinked and then whatever it was that was there was now gone. Like a ghost passing between them, leaving nothing but a lingering memory. Nothing but inexplicable coldness.

"Mr. Valmont, Mrs. Valmont's asking for you." One of them said. It didn't matter which one. They were all the same to the stepbrother's ears.

"Leave if you have to," he leaned closer so that no one else but her heard his words. "but come back. Please come back."

The vixen said nothing.

He brought their clasped hands close to his face. Rubbed her hand against his cheek. He closed his eyes.

"Mr. Valmont, your wife needs—"

"I'm coming." He barked. But his eyes remained on hers.

Very, very slowly,

With surprising tenderness

(You would think he loved her)

The stepbrother brought his lips to her palm

And kissed her there

Before letting go.

* * *

Blahblahblah. If you must know, I haven't written for almost a month and I feel like I'm losing it. That's why this was short. I just needed something. Anything. Just to feel like writing again.


	9. Disorganized Giving

IX. Disorganized Giving

_Take a sharp left,_

_And another left, meet me on the corner_

_And we'll start again._

-Badly Drawn Boy

At first, it was a little weird to be around her again. As the stepbrother and the vixen got used to each other's presence at work given the fact that they were in the middle of finalizing a multimillion dollar deal, it became less about their past and more about acquainting themselves with who they had become in each other's absence.

Of course, it should be said that they hadn't completely turned into boring, uptight individuals. The shrewd, calculating nature that they had wielded over their friends (and sometimes each other) in high school was still ever present, only this time it was reflected during their conversations about business strategies. It was during these meetings that the air seemed to come alive between them, and if you had been present in those boardroom meetings, you would have simply stared in awe at the formidable team that both CEOs made. Although they never sat beside each other, it still seemed like they were drawn to each other the way we are often to drawn to someone who was similar to us. It wasn't so much the content of their sentences; it was also the way they moved.

Like now, for instance. The two CEOs, flanked by their respective teams, were in the middle of a heated discussion about the European sovereign debt crisis. It had been about thirty minutes , and no decision had been made.

"Sebastian," the vixen said, staring at him. "Even if you were to disregard the gap being created by the deleveraging and withdrawal of many of the European financial institutions, there are still growing financial requirements in Asia. We can fill these funding gaps by providing capital market solutions."

"It's too risky," he replied, trying not to notice the way her mouth slightly puckered when she enunciated that last word. "I don't want to be placed in that kind of situation, not with the way the economy is going right now."

She was silent for a while, her eyes on the projected diagram.

"The rewards far outweigh the risk," she said softly. "Have you become so attached to your secure life that you forget that there are certain things that must be paid attention to, that must be risked and sacrificed in order to get something better?"

Their eyes met, and around them, their acolytes scribbled notes and checked their emails during the stalemate between the two bosses. Some of the more astute ones observed the two, noticing how they with the aura of two people who had grown up having been used only to the best and only wanted more of it.

"Is that why you came back?" He answered, and although his voice came out smooth and confident the way it always had, he felt his throat suddenly dry up. "To risk for something better?"

A corner of her pink mouth turned up into a smile, "In business, yes. In other matters, I think I already have something better."

His own smile vanished abruptly, and he glanced at his watch. "I have a meeting in an hour. Can we wrap this up?"

One of his associates took over the meeting, and as soon as it was officially over, Sebastian stood up and approached Kathryn.

"Would you like to have lunch?" He said, touching her elbow to stop her from walking. "I know a great restaurant that just opened."

"What happened to your meeting in an hour?" She smirked, a teasing glint in her green eyes.

"It's just lunch," he said. "Come on."

-0-0-0-

The two found themselves seated across each other fifteen minutes later, and although Sebastian had grown up surrounded by influential and successful businessmen and entrepreneurs, he found himself trying to think of something clever to say in front of her. It was strange, really. He had grown up with this woman and yet he chose his words carefully around her, for even though they had reached a truce and could now co-exist without having a screaming match, he found that he did not at all have a clue as to who she had turned out to be.

As Kathryn filled the silence by talking about their business partnership, he couldn't help but watch the way her hands gesticulated. He tried to hide a smile as he watched her face become more animated, her green eyes go alive and her cheeks redden as she talked with such enthusiasm. He had always admired her drive, even when they were in high school. Watching her go from channeling her passion and intelligence from evil schemes against unsuspecting victims to brilliant business plans filled him with awe.

"Why are you smiling like an idiot?" She asked, looking at him strangely as she paused in the middle of her story.

"Nothing. This. You." He immediately cursed himself for lacking his usual good graces.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling. "How wonderfully articulate, Valmont."

"You're amazing," He said. "I'd always wondered how you would turn out, especially when you were gone."

"And how did you imagine I'd turn out?" She took a sip of water.

"Well, you'd be too restless being someone's trophy wife, so I always knew you would be working. Then there's the other notion, of course. There had been the possibility of you whoring around until you got sick and died from STD. In a penthouse somewhere, I don't know."

"You call it whoring around, I call it being unconstrained by society's expectations." She replied, chuckling. "So did I meet your expectations? Well, the good ones, at least."

"You surpassed it," he held her gaze as he said this. "Having you around again has been incredible."

"For your company or for you?"

"Both, I guess. What happened that made you like this?"

They were interrupted by a waiter who arrived to take their order. Kathryn pored over the menu, their conversation momentarily forgotten as she decided on what to order. Sebastian checked his email and then sent a text message to his secretary to cancel his next meeting. After they placed their orders, Kathryn leaned back, running a hand through her long brown hair. Her eyes glinted as though she held a secret but refused to tell him.

"Made me like what, Sebastian?"

"This. Calm. In control. Fulfilled."

"Well, that's very nice of you to say."

"Although, I do miss the scheming, manipulative bitch of Manchester Prep sometimes."

She laughed, and he felt himself smile along with her. "Just because I am 'calm, in control, and fulfilled' doesn't mean I've turned into a saint. I do still punish those who cross me. I just have better ways to do it. Do you remember our grand schemes back then? It was all so convoluted, so painfully messy at times. I've since refined my methods. The more concise, the better."

"Any schemes I should watch out for?"

She lifted her gaze, once again hitting him with the full force of such an intense look. "You think I'm here to harm you," she said, more of an observation than an accusation. "Is this why you've been trying to 'know me'?"

"Of course not,"

Their orders arrived, and for a few minutes they ate in silence.

"There's a term I read somewhere, it's called Disorganized Giving." Kathryn said, as though taking pity on his attempts to initiate an in depth conversation with her. "When I was young, I had the absolute freedom to do anything I want. It was fun, but it was all extremely disorganized. I was made alive by these short lived gratifications. The sex, the drugs, the various ways in which I would fuck people up for my own amusement. I'm not saying that I regret it, I really don't. It was fun, and sometimes I do indulge in my old ways. But at some point, I realized I couldn't keep doing all of that. I couldn't keep giving myself to my career, to people, to all of these things if I had been an absolute mess. Do you understand?"

He nodded, listening, waiting for her to say more. Hoping for her to say more. This was the first real conversation that they'd had in months.

"You think there's a dramatic reason as to why I left. Some sort of tragedy. The truth is, I just got suffocated."

"That's it?"

"Would you rather that an old nemesis had been out to get me and I had to disappear? Would you like this story to be filled with something astounding like a car chase, being in a coma, and having an evil twin sister?"

Her snarky response made him angry, for yes, he had expected a strong reason for her departure. As he searched himself for the exact reason why he was so mad, he felt a sinking feeling. He knew why he was so mad. It wasn't because she left. It was because she left him.

"You were selfish for leaving," he was surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

She seemed genuinely surprised by his tone, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"How was I selfish? I had no responsibility to anyone."

"You had a responsibility to me," the dormant feelings that he thought he had lain to rest once again came alive, and he couldn't help but glare at her.

"As what, exactly?" She challenged, her easygoing nature suddenly gone. Her demeanor was shifting, her gaze becoming sharper. Just like that, he saw a glimpse of the old Kathryn, the volatile teenager he had once known.

"As my…" his voice trailed off and he hated himself for losing this argument. "Stepsister."

"Having a family has turned you a little lame in the argument department, Valmont." Kathryn replied, smiling, her anger diffused. "Anyway, I have to go. I apologize for this but I also have another meeting I need to attend."

He remained quiet, watching her gather her things. As she stood up, he did so as well. Even though they had almost had another fight, their upbringing still dictated their manners, and so Kathryn pressed her mouth against his cheek in order to say goodbye. Once again, their closeness seemed to awaken something inside him, something that had only ever expressed any interest in waking up if it was Kathryn who was nearby. He inhaled her scent, tried to memorize how her soft mouth felt against his skin. He wondered if his stubble made her mouth itch, or if, like him, she was also trying to memorize how he smelled. When they had been younger, she had developed a habit of wearing his shirts after sex, not because it was the only thing nearby, but because she said she wanted to carry his scent on her skin.

"Thank you for lunch," she said quietly, her voice in his ear. It seemed to echo, shaking his insides.

As she moved past him, his hand shot out without him even being aware of it. He grabbed her arm, and they both looked at where their bodies were joined.

"Why did you really come back?" He asked her.

"I also wondered how you had turned out," Kathryn answered. "Now will you please let go of my arm?"

"And did I meet your expectations?" His fingers remained wrapped around her arm, knowing that if he let go, she would leave again.

"In some aspects, you exceeded it. In other parts, you failed me." She pulled her arm away, smiling. "I hope I answered all your questions."

"Not even close."

She walked out of the restaurant, and Sebastian threw a wad of bills on the table and followed her outside. She walked briskly, the wind blowing through her hair, her sunglasses shielding her eyes. It was as if his body had taken a life of its own, and before he knew it, he had caught up to her.

"Did you ever get suffocated by me, too?" He asked, hating how there was a slight crack in his voice, hating how vulnerable he suddenly sounded.

She took off her sunglasses and looked up at him, her usually indifferent expression softening. Her hand reached up, touching his cheek. It was the first gesture of affection that had come from her since she had returned, and he ached for it. Her hand felt cold against his face, but he didn't care. Her fingers touched his eyebrow and his cheek, running over his stubble.

"Yes," she replied, her hand lingering against his skin. "But not for the reasons you think."

And again, she made a move to kiss his cheek, only this time, she didn't pull away. He felt her warm breath against his flesh, and suddenly he didn't care that they were out there in the middle of the street.

He wanted to hold her but he didn't know how to, so his arms remained at his sides.

She rubbed her cheek once, twice against his stubble and he heard her chuckle before pulling away.

"I have to go, Sebastian." She said. "To be continued, okay?"

"You'll come back?"

"We're in the middle of conducting a possible takeover, Sebastian. What do you think?"

"No," He looked at her. "You'll come back?

Instead of replying, she put on her sunglasses and smiled before leaving him.

* * *

**A/N: Holy crackers. A lot of changes on this thing since I've been away. Hello, darling readers. I'm sort of back and I don't know how long I'll be back. Drop a review and say hello, I'd missed all of you. I was trying to pick a story to update, and somehow this appealed the most to me. I'd imagine it was because the characters here are older, and I just came to that point wherein I found it fascinating to think about how they are as adults. Anyway, as I've said, bear with me. This one was updated 4 years ago, I suppose my writing style and outlook have both changed since then. For instance, I noticed that I oftentimes describe and explain too much, which is sort of annoying and it takes away the meaning of the situation being described. I was a yakkity yak writer, wasn't I? Thank you to those who put up with me then. And thanks to those who put up with me now. Hahaha**

**But seriously. I hope everyone is well. **


	10. Almost, But Not Quite

X. Almost, But Not Quite

_We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I'm in the hallway again, I'm in the hallway. The radio's playing my favourite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I'll keep walking towards the sound of your voice._

-Richard Siken

**Maerke Baumer Group Exec Caught in Prostitute Scandal**

Rupert Albertson, one of Maerki Baumer Group CEO Kathryn Merteuil's chief advisers, was recently photographed having sex with a sixteen year old prostitute in a public bathroom last week. Albertson has been the vice president of Operations at Maerke Baumer Group for seven years and is responsible for several key mergers that catapulted the Zurich-based communications and media empire into its current stature in the industry.

Sebastian's brow furrowed as he scanned the article, momentarily diverting his attention from the newspaper to take a sip of coffee. Given his company's partnership with Maerke Baumer, he knew his public relations department must probably be already working on a way to make sure that Valmont Enterprises didn't get negatively impacted.

He glanced at his watch, faintly hearing Annette preparing breakfast for Andrea in the kitchen. Although they had a full time staff at home, his wife still insisted on a more hands on approach when it came to raising their children. He had already received an email from the Director of Communications assuring him that the company's image was intact and that it was Maerke Baumer Group that was currently facing a lot of furious stakeholders. After having read that email, he knew that he had nothing to worry about and he could spend the rest of the day going about his daily routine.

Still, he felt restless.

His phone beeped, and he received a text message from his secretary informing him that his meeting with Maerke Baumer had been canceled. He glanced at the breakfast that the cook had set in front of him and felt his appetite vanish.

The next thing the stepbrother did, he did as if on autopilot.

**Read about Albertson. Anything I can do to help?** He pressed send before he could stop himself.

Her reply arrived 40 minutes later, just as he was about to enter his office.

**No. Sorry the meeting today was canceled. Can we move it to Friday?**

There it was again. That sudden drop in his stomach, that sharp pang of disappointment. Her terse reply was understandable, of course, given the amount of stress that she must be going through.

"Mr. Valmont, here are the contracts for Maerke Baumer. We're having them delivered to their office immediately, but you told me you wanted to look it over first before we did."

He took the folder, scanning the content without really seeing it.

"I'm going there right now, I can give to Kathryn then."

The Maerke Baumer Group's New York headquarters was only ten minutes away from his equally palatial office. As soon as he entered, it was business as usual but the employees looked tense. Heading straight to Kathryn's office, he was stopped by her secretary.

"Ms. Merteuil isn't taking any visitors right now," she announced primly.

"I'm Sebastian Valmont."

"I know who you are, Mr. Valmont. She specifically instructed me not to—"

"Marcia, can you get me a meeting with our lawyers, please?" Kathryn's voice on Marcia's intercom interrupted their conversation, and before her secretary could react, Sebastian brushed past her and went inside Kathryn's office.

He found her seated down, typing. Her green eyes were as sharp as ever, and for what seemed like the millionth time, he marveled at the way her brown hair contrasted against her pale skin. Kathryn's face bore the same expression as her younger self had whenever she was trying to think of ways to punish someone. It was a memory he often returned to in her absence, and he had done it so many times that the details remained accurate despite the passage of time. He never even forgot the way her lips slightly parted when she was in deep thought, or the way her forehead would slightly wrinkle. The only thing that was different was the loud clacking of the keys as she typed or the steaming mug of coffee that sat ignored beside her laptop. When they had been younger, her beverage of choice had been scotch (although she would always say it was wine since it was more appropriate for a 'lady of her standing') when she was in the middle of sorting out a problem.

"I'm busy," Kathryn said without looking up.

"I know," he replied.

The typing stopped. She looked up, glancing at the folder he held and then back at his face.

"I'm assuming that's the final draft for our partnership," she commented. "You do know you have someone who can deliver contracts for you, yes?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

"Were you really?" she replied dryly, resuming her typing. "What can I do for you, Sebastian?"

"I want to help,"

"Thank you, but I don't need your help."

"Let me help you, with Valmont Enterprises backing you up, Maerke Baumer can—"

The typing stopped again. She closed her laptop, slamming her open palm against the table. The sound startled him, it was one of the very rare instances he'd seen Kathryn lose her composure since her return.

"Goddamn it, Sebastian," she hissed, glaring at him. "I said I don't need your help. Who do you think you're talking to? This little crush of yours is amusing but I cannot deal with this right now."

Her words stung, but he kept his expression calm. "Fine," he replied coldly, placing the folder on her table. "Suit yourself."

He made his way to the door, mentally cursing himself for being so stupid. What had he hoped would happen here? She was right. She didn't need his help, and he'd always known that. She never needed it when she left, and she certainly didn't need it now. He wondered why it bothered him so much.

"Wait," she called out, sighing. "I'm sorry, Seb. This Albertson debacle is just really fucking up my day."

Seb. She had called him Seb. There it was again, that annoying thump in his chest, like a sledgehammer was used for a light tap against his heart.

"Had we been back at Manchester Prep, I would have offered a very fun way of helping you relax." He replied, his anger having dissipated at the mere mention of her nickname for him.

She smirked, "Ah, there he is. I was sad to see the seventeen year old pervert disappear, but apparently, he's still in there somewhere."

"Yes, he is. Now let me help you with Albertson. I know you don't need my help, but be quiet and let me help you anyway. We've always had fun working together."

"I really can't let you, Sebastian. There are certain details here that must remain confidential."

"I'm not asking as CEO, Kate. I'm asking as Sebastian."

She remained quiet, studying his expression.

"Trust me," his voice was soft, yet his words seemed to echo in her ears. That tone. It was the same voice he had used when he held her after she had visited her father all those years ago.

"If you use whatever you're going to find out in order to damage this company in any way, I will bury you." She replied after a long pause. "I mean it, Sebastian. If you're carrying some sort of grudge against me, don't even try. You have no idea what I'm capable of now."

Her voice remained still, yet he could feel the weight of her words. He met her gaze, and once again, the entire world seemed to only be consisted of him and her. He held up his hands, motioning his surrender. The stepbrother smiled, his blue eyes warm as he took his blazer off and carefully laid it on one of her couches. He rolled up his sleeves, pressing his hand against his flat stomach in order to keep his tie from moving as he sat down.

"You've been good for my company." He said. "Let me show you how I could be good for yours."

"Just your company?" Kathryn cocked her head, smiling for the first time since that asshole Albertson made a mess of things.

"No, not really just my company. I just thought it would be inappropriate to tell you that you've been good for me, too."

"Since when have you ever worried about telling me something inappropriate?"

"Since I started worrying that I'd make you leave again." He stared at her expectantly; his blond curls and full mouth looking better than she'd remembered.

As the vixen stood up, it was as if they had been transported back to their old house. The windows seemed to reflect the view from her room, and the shelves seemed to be stocked with books and trinkets instead of folders and files. She carried a stack of papers and sat beside him, her knee touching his. Her scent reached his nostrils again, and he briefly wondered what shampoo she used. He was rendered helpless, wanting, waiting for the next coincidental contact of any part of her with his. These feelings were strange. He had never felt this way about her even when they had been having an affair, and yet now she flooded his senses in a way that left him wondering what on earth was happening.

As Kathryn began explaining the predicament she found herself in, he struggled to listen. Every time her fingers would point at a certain part of a document, he would half look at the content and half look at her hand. The thin wrist, the slender fingers, the structure of which never to be mistaken for fragility. He was well aware what that hand could do. In the more animalistic moments of their coupling as teenagers, he had grasped that hand as he pounded against her. Her fingers had curled in between the spaces of his own fingers and she had moaned in his ear, her sweat mingling with his, her teeth nibbling against his earlobe. It was strange that these moments now seemed to be a bigger part of his life than it had been before, that he still remembered everything down to every single detail.

"… Albertson's been using company funds to pay for underage prostitutes," she continued talking, having absolutely no idea that his thoughts lay elsewhere. "Since he had been the one overseeing the financial reports, no one ever noticed anything odd. This makes us look like we've been aware of what he was doing all along, which leaves us vulnerable to our competitors. It also makes our current business partners uneasy."

"You'd have no problem with Valmont Enterprises," he cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly in order to clear the fog that was currently impairing his thoughts. "The partnership continues as planned."

She smiled at him again, "Thank you, Sebastian. It brings me to my next problem. I need to take Albertson down without implicating the company. He was with Marvin Baumer and Thomas Maerke even before I came onboard, it's going to be tricky."

"Not for us." He answered, looking around the room in order to stop himself from staring at her too much. Her office reflected her personality (elegant, all white and steel and made of glass), and there were very few personal items on display, except for the same framed photograph of her with a man he had yet to know. The image of Kathryn with someone else reminded him of the fact that they had spent so many years apart and now knew very little about each other's lives. Of course, it also reminded him of Annette and their daughters.

"Not for us." She repeated, her eyes following his gaze. They stared at the mysterious photograph but she offered no explanation. "Are you sure you don't have anywhere else to be?"

"Nowhere but here," he answered.

And with that, the two spent the next two hours discussing strategies and plans. Three hours later, they had an outline, which they shared with Kathryn's key executives and crisis management team. By the end of the week, they knew that Albertson would be successfully extricated from Maerke Baumer like a tumor that had been mercilessly sliced off. Those who were present in Kathryn's office that day would often retell the story with a sense of wonder, commenting as to how the two worked as though they had done it for years. They built on each other's ideas with such speed and precision that they wondered how Maerke Baumer would run if it had been run by the brilliant pair.

It was these same thoughts that occupied the stepbrother's mind as he watched Kathryn during Maerke Baumer's press conference. He knew her speech by heart, having helped her create it, and he couldn't help but grin at the masterful plot that they had concocted. The press kits Maerke Baumer provided the media were filled with revised financial statements, as well as the sordid details of Albertson's illegal activities during his stay in the company. Kathryn played her role well, looking appalled and dejected at the betrayal of one of her trusted employees.

In one swift move, she had shifted the blame entirely on Albertson without bringing the company's history into question. It was a long 2 hour press conference, but when it was over, he was the first person she approached.

"How did I do?" She asked, her grin showing him all too well that she already knew the answer to her question.

"I'm proud of you,"

She held out her hand, "Thank you for helping me."

They shook hands but he held longer than he should, and when he didn't let go, her smile disappeared.

"Don't," she said.

"I'm not doing anything,"

"Yes, you are." Kathryn said quietly, all traces of mirth now gone from her expression. "Don't start, Sebastian. It wouldn't end well."

He let go and when she started walking away from him (it seemed as though it was something she liked to do these days), he found himself wishing that he hadn't.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome back, everyone! I am still adjusting these days, but I do hope I've done them justice despite my long absence. It was very nice to hear from most of you, thank you very much for your support. This is my favorite part of updating. As always drop a review and say hello. I like hearing from you.**

**Wing: Thank you, I will _try _my very best to give it a good ending, although based on experience at times my version of 'good ending' doesn't necessarily coincide with the readers' expectations. But let's see if they'll stay together in this one, yes? :)**

**Uni: Wish granted. At least, for now...**

**Katie: Yes, I am back but I don't know for how long. It's been six years since I started this, how crazy is that? A lot of changes since then!**

**Dimonyo-anghel: You're welcome for the upload. :)**

**Vivss: I'm pretty sure he will... I just wonder how he'll take it. Dun dun duuun!**

**Kay8abc: My appreciation for brevity these days doesn't necessarily mean I'll complete do away with the descriptions, don't worry. :)**

**SalvaVeritatefan: Oh, how cool. I have a fan! :P I will try my very best to stay.**

**Caroline Spencer: Thank you. I'm also happy that you're contributing to the community. **

**Pot: Yes, they have grown up, and I will try not to stop! :D**


	11. Unfinished Business

XI. Unfinished Business

_I wanted to take him home  
and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his  
like a crash test car.  
I wanted to be wanted and he was  
very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving._

-Richard Siken

It started out innocently enough. Some might say that the stepbrother had snapped, while others say that it was merely because he'd been married for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to do something reckless. Lately it seemed as though there were two Sebastians. One was the cocky teenager who liked to fuck around and the other was a man who was genuinely happy to have something stable after having lived a life of instability.

He knew of course that he should have followed Kathryn's lead, that he should have been thankful she always found ways to evade him. But it always seemed that the farther she seemed, the more he wanted to spend time with her. When he was with her, it was like there was another part of his life that would open up, a part that he was never aware of. It never mattered that they were just out having lunch or coffee. It never mattered that they were surrounded by about ten executives. She challenged him in ways he had never been challenged, and in the many years that she was gone, he had missed having that around.

It was on that particular night, after a very long meeting with Valmont Enterprises' board of directors, that Sebastian received a text message from Kathryn.

**Plans?**

He stopped walking and stared at his mobile phone for what seemed like ages before replying.

**Going home. Long day. Why?**

That time, her reply didn't take over half an hour to arrive.

**Join me. Our place.**

It must be said that the stepbrother was currently suffering from a migraine and up until receiving that text message, wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep.

Still, he replied.

**15 minutes.**

-0-0-0-

It was around 20 minutes when he arrived at their old townhouse. Since no one lived in it anymore, it seemed bigger given the absence of a staff. Nearly everything was covered in a white sheet, but the lights were all open. He could hear music down the hall.

"Kathryn?" He called out, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had started to sweat.

"In here," She replied over the music.

He found her in her old room, seated in front of her vanity table. She held a glass of scotch in her hand, smiling up at him.

"Hi," she said. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please." He replied, unsure of what to do.

She stood up, walking to the mini bar. "I only have scotch, is that okay?"

He nodded, his throat suddenly dry.

"Seb, relax." She laughed at his discomfort, noticing that he hadn't moved an inch. She placed the glass down and walked towards him, her green eyes warm and beautiful. "It's me. I know you're caught off guard because I'm not trying to fuck you up or hurt you but it's me. It's Kathryn. Relax. You're home."

As if to prove her point, her pale hands grasped his blazer, sliding it off him. She kept her eyes on him as she did so, her fingers brushing against the defined musculature of his arms. She tossed the blazer on the bed without looking, and then proceeded to fold his sleeves and push it upward to reveal his forearms.

"Rough day?" She asked softly.

He nodded.

"Me, too."

She loosened his tie for him. He stared at her face intently, his fingers twitching, unsure what to do. It was a gesture that lasted a couple of seconds but it seemed longer. When his tie was properly loosened, she took it off and threw it on the floor.

Her eyes traveled to his throat, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. She stared at him and narrowed her eyes, as though trying to figure something out.

"What is it?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Quiet," she replied, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, tousling it. Her fingertips touched the newly exposed skin on his upper chest. She stood so close he could see her lowered lids, her eyelashes long and curled.

"There," she announced, smiling. "Like before."

"Not quite," he grabbed her wrists just as she was about to pull away. He could feel her pulse quicken, but despite the tight grip, she never flinched. She stared at him, refusing to back down. It was the same expression she'd sometimes have during their debates at work, and it had been the same expression back when they were at Manchester Prep. It was one of the things he loved about her, the unflinching stare, the quiet strength, and that goddamn gorgeous face of hers.

"Let go," she said.

"But it's my turn," he replied, surprised at how strong his voice suddenly was.

"Is it now?" Kathryn mused, smiling. "And how would Annette react to you touching me?"

He didn't speak, but his grip loosened. Her wrists were red, but still, she never winced. He couldn't stop staring at her, and no matter how intense his gaze was, she never looked away.

"Enough." She said.

"It never is."

He grabbed her shoulders, slamming her against the wall.

"There," she whispered, tilting her neck. Her parted lips touched his, her tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. "Like before,"

He felt her breath enter his mouth, and every single thought in his head just disappeared. He kissed her, growling when she bit his lip. She pulled his shirt apart, ignoring the sound of buttons hitting the floor. He kissed her neck, wincing as her nails dug against his skin.

"Did you miss me?" she grinned, her eyes dark and mischievous as she pushed him against her drawer, causing the mirror to break as he crashed against it.

"Yes, and fuck, you're rough." he tried to ignore the pain that reverberated through his body as he pulled her top off her head and unhooked her bra. "I think you just cut my back."

"Did I?" She stopped kissing him, pausing to look at the reflection of his bleeding lower back. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was tousled and her arms were still resting on his shoulders. "Wait, stand up. Let me see."

He complied, standing still while she examined the wound.

"The wound isn't that deep," she commented.

"Yeah, I suppose I'm just a bleeder."

"Let's check. Does this hurt?"

She crammed her fingernails against the cut, smiling devilishly as he swore.

"Bitch!"

"Potty mouth," she kissed the bleeding wound before kissing the back of his neck.

"That really hurt, Kathryn." He complained, turning to glare at her.

"I'm sorry," she pouted, looking very much like an innocent schoolgirl. "I just missed slamming you around. Like before, don't you remember?"

"I do, Kate. But now's different, okay?" He cupped her face, running his thumb over her mouth. He brushed her hair back with gentle hands. "How about we go easy on each other this time?"

"No," She replied, her gaze becoming hard "Fuck me."

She kissed him, and he could taste the alcohol in her breath. Her hands grasped him as though she was drowning, as though she wanted to crawl into him. It was when she pulled away to take off her underwear that he sensed something was very different. The serene expression he had so admired was now gone, and when she looked at him, it seemed as though it wasn't _him_ she saw, but one of her faceless fucktoys. It felt wrong, and he tried to stifle a groan as her skillful hand began stroking him. He had to stay focused. He felt like his body was trying to throw him into two different directions, for of course he wanted to be inside her again, and yet he knew that if he did, it would have been all wrong.

"Wait," he gasped, shutting his eyes tightly as she started kissing his neck.

"Be quiet and just fuck me," she hissed.

There was something about her voice that made him look at her, and as he did, he found her gaze so intense and pleading at the same time.

"This is what you wanted," she said quietly. "This is what I need right now. So just be quiet and fuck me."

"Do you… do you want to just talk about it?"

"No, I don't. I just want you to fuck the shit out of me. What happened to you? Since when have you become Mr. Feelings? If I recall correctly, you saved all of that for Annette and left the fucking for me."

"Fine," he said. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," she replied. "Hard. I want it to hurt."

He complied, picking her up and slamming her against the cabinet. She cried out in pain, but the pain only seemed to fuel her more. She slapped his face, her green eyes filled with a hate he couldn't understand.

"Wait," he said, putting her down. She reached out for him but he took a step back, grabbing her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and dark, uncomprehending anything else but lust. There was a glow on her face, her mouth slightly parted, imploring him, seducing him, calling out to him. He tried not to stare at her half naked body, at the same smooth skin he had touched all those years ago.

"Why?" Kathryn's arms slowly went down, and a strange calm came over her.

They stared at each other for what seemed like ages, both of them looking disheveled and slightly flushed. He had scratch marks on his shoulders and there was a bruise on her arm.

Her eyes moved to the wedding band on his finger.

"Is it the ring?" She asked.

He blinked, looking at his left hand as though noticing the ring for the first time. The platinum band glinted in the dimly lit room, and it suddenly felt cold against his skin.

"No," he said. "It's not the ring."

"Then what?"

"You want to have sex because you're mad about something. I don't want to be used like that."

"We used each other like last time," Kathryn countered, putting on her blouse and brushing past him. "What changed?"

"You left," he watched her as she turned around, but her expression gave nothing away.

"So what?"

"I don't want you to leave again."

He saw her lips part, as though she was going to say something. He waited for her voice but nothing came out. He couldn't look at her eyes, so he just focused at her mouth. Pale pink, devoid of lipstick. Soft and full. He was now very aware that he was disheveled, bruised, and half naked. For some reason, he felt the need to put his clothes on. Although he had never felt anything akin to modesty when it came to how he looked, her stare made him feel as though she was peering into him, and it was a feeling he didn't particularly enjoy. Sebastian grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on, glad to have something else to do.

"Hey, Seb." Her voice sounded strange. Hesitant.

He looked up.

""Do you remember the time we worked together to bring that whore Cassie Collins down?""

He smiled at the memory. "Yes, of course. For reasons I still can't fathom, she actually wanted to fuck Blaine more than me. We made Tuttle fuck her, and when he couldn't get it up, he just went down on her to keep her from getting suspicious. He was so disgusted he brushed his teeth for an hour afterwards."

Kathryn's lips turned up, and her smile grew until it turned into a full-fledged chuckle. "God, that was amusing. He hated me for weeks."

"He got over it pretty soon. You did hook him up with a male model."

"I didn't actually. I wanted Jean Pierre for myself. I just pretended I brought him for Tuttle after I caught him with his tongue down Blaine's throat."

"Really?" He laughed again, and she smiled.

"This is nice," she said. "By now I thought I was going to have you on top of me, but this is nice."

"Why did you want to have sex?"

"I was horny."

"The real reason, Kathryn."

She smiled, but he noticed her eyes were sad. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Valmont."

"Maybe I care,"

"Maybe you're just being nosy,"

"Maybe you want me to care but you're just too full of yourself to admit it," He countered, and then frowned as he felt his head pound with the migraine that he'd forgotten about when they had been kissing. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" she frowned, peering at him.

"Migraine. Long day."

"Lie down,"

He gave her a look.

"Oh, you pervert. I meant rest here. Sleep here. I'll sleep in your old room. You can have this one."

"I think this is the only clean room in the house. Everything else is dusty."

"How would you know?"

"I used to come here sometimes."

"You'd go to my room?"

"Yes,"

"Why?"

"I thought maybe if I was here, you'd come back."

"Oh. Okay. Then I'll just leave."

"Don't. Just lie with me. This bed's pretty big."

"That's weird. We'd lie together without having sex?"

"Well, you could blow me if you want to."

"You're such a pig."

"Only joking." He slipped under the covers, rubbing his hurting forehead. "Come here."

She settled on the other side, looking uncomfortable. "Now what?"

"If you don't want to blow me, maybe a hand job?"

She smacked his head, "Sebastian!"

"Ow! Geez you're violent. I was kidding. Now nothing. Talk to me. How was your day?"

She started talking about mergers and acquisitions, and although he understood the first five sentences, eventually, his migraine worsened and he couldn't fully concentrate. Still, it didn't matter. The night wore on, and her voice filled the air. It made the cold room warmer, and he paid more attention to the way the moonlight seemed to caress her face. He could feel himself starting to fall asleep, but he struggled to stay awake. Technically they weren't physically touching but the proximity made him feel at ease. He realized that this was more intimate than fucking, and he wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or glad at the thought.

His headache went away, and he had been asleep for a couple minutes when he was roused by a sudden movement and a buzzing sound on the floor. He reached over and grabbed his vibrating phone, squinting at the screen.

It was Annette.

"You should go," she said, sounding like she had been up the entire time. Her back was turned to him and it was only then that he saw a jagged scar on the lower right side. The mottled flesh looked strange against her otherwise pale skin.

He glanced at the phone, and then at her scarred back again. The vibrating finally stopped, and he turned the phone off. The unfamiliar mark on her body may or may not have been significant, but for him, it was a reminder of the years they spent apart. Once again, he realized that there were so many things to know about her, so many stories that he couldn't explain why he wanted to know. His imagination went into overdrive, wondering about that mark, wondering why she didn't just have it treated by a plastic surgeon.

He wanted to ask her so many things, but he didn't know where to start. Instead, he placed the phone on the side table and bridged the gap between them, brushing his mouth against her neck, his hands rubbing between her legs.

"Is this what you really need right now?" he asked quietly, feeling her breath quicken, her body respond.

"Yes," she said, facing him. Her eyes were alert; dark with arousal and something else he couldn't understand. It seemed like a void, like a hollow sadness that couldn't be filled no matter how hard he tried.

"What happened?" He asked, his fingers now slick and warm inside her.

She kissed him, and he gave her everything she needed. It didn't matter that she got her way, or that he had surrendered to her. All he kept seeing were her sad eyes, all he kept feeling was the rough desperation in her kisses, and the way her nails angrily raked across his skin. During that moment, all he ever wanted to do was to make her forget everything else she wanted to run away from.

* * *

**A/N: Hello again, everyone. Drop a line, say hello. I hope you're all doing well.**


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